


Hurricane Whisper

by solsixtus



Category: Generator Rex
Genre: F/M, Holix - Freeform, Multi, Post-Family Holiday, Pre-Six minus Six, slight Rex/Beverly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solsixtus/pseuds/solsixtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after five years, the world struggles to hold together under the strain of evolving nanites. For Agent Six, Dr. Holiday, and Rex, restoring balance rests on the delicate equilibrium they've found in Providence and each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hurricane Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> The story takes place a week after the events of "A Family Holiday," avoiding Six's memory loss and Rex's six-month time-jump, but still containing elements and facts through to the end of the series.

 

_"A hurricane can tear a stone from the foundation and hurl it for miles, but one whisper can topple an entire nation."_

* * *

He didn't quite understand why she was wearing a dress worth two thousand dollars and composed of only a meter's length of material.

It was distasteful; to her, to Providence, to the global benefactors who provided the organization's funding. The resources wasted on her attire alone surpassed the manufaction of a standard-issue weapon.

_And the jewelry_. Just thinking about it made him cringe.

Six observed her through high-powered binoculars, increasing the magnification to twenty times with a flick of his index finger until he could see from this distance the forced smile that stayed on her lips.

Perhaps he should cast the blame elsewhere; to the hosts of the gala. A privately-funded organization based in Italy, the Haven Society publically declared it was a "non-profit organization that sought to solve problems in the world caused by the Nanite Event through peaceful means," but Six knew otherwise.

The Haven Society was the same as the other organizations, groups, and gangs, that sprang up like weeds overnight in response to the continually evolving world. The only reason the world gave a damn and allowed it to continue was because of the important celebrities, politicians, and companies who supported and donated to it.

And a majority of them were opponents of Providence.

He'd heard the arguments, countless times. 'Providence cannot be owned or controlled by one country.' Or something related to that train of thought. It was not. An international Committee controlled it, and from there it was liasioned by the UN. The problem came from countries who were not on the Committee.

Italy was one such country.

That was why he was stationed nearly half a block away, watching the Doctor give false smiles and entertain corpulent businessmen. Though they posed a threat of hardly any significance to her, barring an EVO mutation, he remained ever vigilant in his role. As a representative of Providence, she was in a sea of enemies, from the dolled up heiress to the handsome shipping company owner, and he would not allow himself to rest as long as she remained in their company. If someone even _smiled_ the wrong way at her...

His grip tightened on the viewfinder as he saw Philippe Ranjo step out on to the garden vista. Six trained his lenses on the Colombian who had strong ties to right-wing paramilitarists. Ranjo fumbled with something in his tuxedo pocket; it was small and cylindrical.

The Colombian was the _wrong_ person to be deviating from the crowd. Unease wormed in Six's gut. There had been an incident in Rio de Janeiro two years ago that ended with half of the French Embassy destroyed in an explosion. No one was found responsible, but intelligence reports hinted Ranjo funded the op. During their mission prep, a list had been made of all guests attending this gala, assessing their threat level. Ranjo was number five.

"Cowboy-Two and -Three, take Delta position." Six tapped his earpiece. "Check out target on balcony Lima. Target has pulled an unidentifiable object from his jacket. Possible detonation device. Please confirm or deny."

_"Roger, Samurai. Moving to location."_

 

He hoped the item was not a detonator. Not _here_. _Not now_. He stole a glance back at Holiday, calculating a zone of safety for her in case it was possible. Six vaguely kept her conversation with French activist Marie Tatou on his mind, but he was not the only one who did so. He could see her tense expression through the lens of the binoculars, her concentration focused on the dialogue feeding through her own earpiece. Her eyes searched blindly out the large windows in the direction of the balcony he stood on, waiting for his voice, somehow finding his gaze across the distance.

He didn't tear his eyes away from her own, waiting with bated breath for an answer for her.

_"Samurai Actual, this is Cowboy-Three. We are five meters from Target. That is a negative for detonator. Object in hand is a cigar._ Montecristo. _I can smell the smoke from here."_

Holiday visibly relaxed, but he wasn't about to let his guard down. He _had_ to be sure for her. If something were to happen, he could not be there immediately to respond. He had to end things before they even started.

"Cowboy-Two, can you confirm with -Three's identification?"

_"Affirmative, Samurai."_

"Return to original position."

Like her, he relaxed, slightly, annoyed with the bead of sweat that had trickled unnoticed from his temple. Through his earpiece, he could hear her conversation with Tatou continue again, explaining to the frenchwoman her sudden silence was a lapse in courtesy for a mental calculation of a future experiment. _Scientific epiphany_ , she called it.

Despite himself, his lip twitched in amusement. She was quick, brushing off imminent danger like it was unwanted lint on an immaculate blouse. Though the two women had little in common profession-wise, their goals were essentially the same, and they discussed what the Haven Society planned to unveil at tonight's gala. Their conversation must have been deeply stimulating, because it pulled Michael Brooks away from two other women he was entertaining.

"A solution," he interjected.

Six wondered what the American actor would do, because although he was second to last on their threat list, he would definitely be at the top of most annoying.

"Haven has told me that with the help of my numerous donations to them, they've made a cure for incurables. Something no one else has ever been able to do yet." Brooks looked directly at Holiday.

From the balcony, he could see her arched eyebrow, the beginning of trouble.

"That doesn't mean there aren't people working to find one," she defended evenly.

Brooks ignored her.

"Haven has been so kind to my niece. I'm so glad I've supported them from the beginning. They've only ever showed my family compassion and treated her as a person, not an EVO. No Zoos or cages for her. She has all the freedom she needs on the Santa Valeria Preserve."

"Oh, dat _is_ nice," Six heard Tatou agree. "Y'know, I've 'eard that zey don't do any scientific tests on the island."

Apparently, she had bought Brook's pitch.

"Yes, they don't. All testing is done here in Italy. Haven gets samples through volunteer victims and respects their wishes if they don't. My niece was so generous in providing breakthroughs, but even if she didn't, they wouldn't have decided to rip her apart molecule by molecule."

Brook's smooth voice made him physically cringe. If there was _one_ thing, Six had learned _not_ to bring up in front of Holiday, it was the molecular disassembling chamber.

"My _sister_ is an incurable," she seethed. "I personally saw that that machine was dismantled and destroyed."

Finally, she had captured the actor's attention, not that anyone could ignore her dangerous tone, and he faced her with poorly masked disdain.

"And yet, knowing what they did to people, you still choose to stay with Providence. Haven would be honored to have such a smart and beautiful woman aligned with them."

Regardless of the terribly positioned flattery attached to the comment, this conversation was going south terribly quick. Six thinned his lips. If he was down there, the conversation would be over before it ever reached the border. Michael Brooks was _extremely lucky_ that he wasn't.

Holiday maintained her cool for the moment.

"Providence allows me any resource to do my research. With classified data from the government, I was able to reprogram gamma-cron nanites and prevent forty percent of future mutations in Asian women."

The merit was evident in her voice as it crackled over the comm. She was proud of her work and of the power she held. With good reason, too. He had seen other men break under the strain of her job, abuse the power that came with it. _But Holiday_...Six thought she was doing a fine job.

"You can't deny that Providence has helped the world," she quipped.

Brooks replied equally as quick. "But still it employs a boy to do its dirty work."

She looked ready to slap him, her knuckles white as she held onto her clutch.

_Second thing_ , Six knew about her: do _not_ insult Rex. The same rule applied to him. Anyone who insulted Holiday or Rex in front of him would never make the same mistake again, but tonight was not the night for corrections, from either of them. She wasn't just attending this gala to uphold her image or Providence's.

For a split second, Six couldn't predict Holiday's next move. His own grip tightened on the balcony railing as he observed her. Perhaps he should have been better prepared for this mission. He was expecting trouble from other guests, but he had the brief paralyzing fear that he forgot about trouble coming from Holiday.

The tense second passed without incident as he heard her gritted reply.

"Not all of it."

Whether or not the insult was understood by Brooks or not, Holiday excused herself from the actor and activist.

Six trailed her as she navigated through the decadent guests.

"Could have handled that better."

No smile graced her face. _"I thought I handled it perfectly,"_ she whispered back.

He lost sight of her when she passed a pillar, and he wondered if she did it on purpose. She was still angry with him.

His lip twitched.When was she _not?_

Tonight's offense was not his fault. She wanted him to be there, at her side, and he was not. _Could_ not be there, because this mission is possibly one of the most important Providence could ever undertake. Nothing could go wrong. For that to happen, he had to oversee everything, especially when they were stretched so thin. Expenses were nearly double the cost of a regular mission; silenced weapons, stealth suits, not to mention tuxedos and Holiday's attire. Because Providence had no jurisdiction in Italy, they had to make as little noise as possible and only four men were at his command and disposal. Six in total, including himself and Callan. Eight with Cesar and Holiday.

A very large part of the operation rode heavily on her shoulders, since _she_ would be the one to have direct contact with the target and locate his lab. Her focus needed to be unfaltering, impossible to do when she was acutely aware of his absence.

_"This is Cowboy Actual, five minute check-in, over."_

The knot forming in his trapezius loosened as he dropped his shoulders in mild relief because Callan's routine report was a welcomed reminder that things tonight were still going according to plan. So far.

"Acknowledged, Cowboy. Maintain positions. Over," he replied.

_"You sent my boys to Delta position. Has the situation changed?"_

His reply wasn't immediate, and if the Captain noticed, he remained wisely silent, because he caught sight of Holiday again at the gala. She was not difficult to find, even amongst the dazzlingly adorned attendants she was trying to distance herself from. Maybe it was the mounting years of working together that drew his eyes to her familiar profile, or maybe it was something else, a luring undercurrent gluing his attention to her that he tried not to connect with the playing card burning a hole in the pocket of his trousers.

Six fished it from his pocket and examined it for the ninth time that evening, gritting his teeth at the red diamond and six numeral on the fraying card.

"Negative. Just a precaution. The situation remains cloudy all day. Samurai out."

 


	2. Flip and Sizzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the gala, Holiday seeks out amongst the guests their mark, Simon Sgambelluri in hopes of locating his laboratory. When the original plan fails, she takes matters into her own hands.

 "A nod is as good as a wink."

* * *

  


Somehow she preferred the chirping, frenetic jangle of the Petting Zoo to the angry droning filling the ballroom. To her ears, the animated conversations were hostile- or asinine. Her time was being wasted with this audience who cared only about self-gain and passive inaction to the world's maladies.

It wasn't that she despised primp occasions like this. She could handle conferences, welcomed them actually, because with those, she was with peers, intellectuals, _enlightened minds_. Tonight, and tomorrow, were thinly veiled show-and-tells wrapped in political bullshit. Only an hour into the evening, she was seriously entertaining reliving a day working under that incompetent ass, Fell, to wasting another nauseating second here.

From her new location in the ballroom, it was not difficult to spot other organization representatives, like herself, who no doubt held the same amount of interest or alliance with Haven than she and Providence did; Valentina of Green Fist, Jenna Marsh from Silent Sanctum, Three Waters CEOs James and John Lyons, people from NOVA, from Fuenta Unidos. Nearly every major faction and organization created after the Event was present in some way, shape, or form tonight. They were all here, involuntarily, to maintain their edge in this unnecessary struggle for dominance; in medicine, in nanotechnology, human rights, animal rights...the list was long.

Perhaps that was why no one entertained her tonight. Providence cast too big a shadow over all of them. Nearly three quarters of any information gathered from the Event onwards were from Providence, and _ten percent_ was from her.

Still, it would be nice to gain some recognition from this crowd. She didn't question their motivation, most of it. Many of the people here tonight had the same as she; family members and friends grotesquely transformed into terrible creatures. It was unfair, unforgiving, and cruel, and they were all of them trying to find justice, closure, and answers.

They would not find them here. Not from Haven Society. Not mere _days_ after Brandon Moses's elaborate hoax. And yet, even after the disappointment, the world flocked to Simon Sgambelluri, another handsome face and head of a praised organization, giving only his most sincere promise to the desperate world. So despite all the opposing opinions floating in the room, human supremists brushed shoulders with EVO rights activists and bio-weapon makers dined with peace ambassadors. The silent comfort knowing that everyone wanted the same thing helped them press on.

Until three days ago, she had shared their unifying desperation. Now she was alone in celebrating the knowledge that there was an answer, there _is_ a cure, and she was working night and day to replicate the method. Not for fame or glory, as others definitely did, but so that Brooks could get his niece back and Jenna Marsh might see her younger brother graduate from high school. The ultimate crime would be to abandon her work after coming so close, after curing Beverly.

Failure now drove her to pursue what was once thought impossible, failure to produce the cure for the world, and when the opportunity arose in the form of Sgambelluri, fresh off the heels of Brandon, she sprang on it, even if Providence's plan was brash.

She sighed, loudly. The idea was not hers, and neither was the setup, but she _did_ agree that Sgambelluri was not the right man to hold such information. And Cesar's theory of it was so convincing. She was willing to do her part tonight if it meant saving the world, and that meant attending this gala and interacting with him. Difficult to do when the man was the center of attention.

Holiday stayed in plain view of the large eastern-most window, still feeling Six's distant shaded gaze as if he were in the room next to her, but the effect was not the same. Not omniscient, not reassuring. Yet, still he believed he could pull off this surgical operation from behind a pair of binoculars.

She shook her head.

If he wanted _his_ plan to go without a hitch, he should be down here in the fray with her. How typical that he was not. That man was _impossibly stubborn._

The inclination to obstruct herself from his view on that outlying balcony to prove him wrong was tempting.

"You're dress is beautiful, Doctor."

At the rich, accented voice from behind her, she nearly jumped, and she turned around to meet the perfect smile of Haven Society founder Simon Sgambelluri. Her mark.

"It's one of Don Carlos's designs, yes?" His question and fine features were illuminated by his cordial expression, a perfectly rehearsed tactic that he extorted numerously and effectively, but she was not caught off guard by such shallow distractions. Her composure was dropped and hastily recovered because she hadn't expected to encounter him so early in the evening.

"Um, yes," she answered through a plastic smile and then a genuine one because he had noticed her well-planned attire. "It is. Thank-you."

"How is your evening?"

She measured his confident posture, enhanced by his custom tailored tuxedo, immaculate and alluring. It's charm did not work on her.

"Good," she replied, a cautious answer, made even more wary in her mind by the distraction of Six's voice over the comm informing the agents that she had finally made contact with their mark.

_"-are Home on the Range. I repeat Home on the Range. The Deer and the Antelope are at play."_

Sgambulluri glanced down at the marble tiles of the ballroom, considering her answer, and back up at her. He clucked his tongue, furrowing his brows in concern.

"You seem bored."

Holiday chuckled humorlessly, studying the floor herself for a moment. She had anticipated only ruses and deflection from him, but instead he was straight to the point. She would be equally as direct, then.

Her gaze flicked back to his. "I admit that I do not share many viewpoints with most of your guests."

At this, he nodded as if he were already aware of it.

"Then I will admit that I share some of that fault. I had hoped to unite us all tonight to witness something I know we all want."

With her eyes, she followed his flourished gesture of the filled ballroom, her attention falling to every face, hope so blatant and unbidden on each one.

"And what _do_ we want?" For a moment her thoughts were unfiltered, unchecked by discipline, logic, reason, and everything else that defined her. The question slipped past her solid mental defence and she quickly bolstered it for whatever answer the Italian-American was bound to give.

Instead, he seemed to study her frown that was not one of disagreement but uncertainty. He procured a glass of champagne and offered it to her, pulling it off the tray of a waiter whose job, no doubt, was to trail him as he entertained guests.

With a curt nod, he presented another glass in a toast and she reciprocated the action.

"We want time," he murmured to his glass, pausing for a second as he watched the bubbles rise in the amber liquid. "All the time that was stolen from our brothers and daughters, our sisters and sons."

There was something about the dulcet tone of his voice, the shadow of grief she thought flickered in his eye, that transformed each rising bubble into a lost memory; precious time she and her sister never had.

Sgambelluri drank from his glass and the illusion was broken. She drank hers slowly, watching him down his in two gulps, as if perturbed by his own confession.

His confidence returned along with his smile, half-apoligetic and pacifiying, the ease and casualness of it making it difficult for her not to return one.

"The presentation is not for a few more minutes, but until then, how can I make your night more entertaining?"

 _Back to business_. He had obviously come to her for something just as she sought him tonight. She smiled. "You already are,' she replied politely, loathing the submissive role she would have to play to keep him talking.

He shook his head.

"Please, as Providence's chief scientist, you are one of my most important guests. I regret that we've never personally met." He extended his hand. "Please call me Simon."

"Rebecca," she offered.

"Rebecca," Simon tested with a nod and presented her his arm. "Walk with me?"

"Of course."

She looped her arm around his as he gave his waiter their empty glasses and shooed him away, far enough to be out of earshot. He was tolerable, not nearly as boorish as Brooks, and surprisingly more polite than she expected, although indirect publicity announcements between Haven and Providence were hardly enough to judge his personality. Manners and ettiquite, however, did not deter her caution. Sgambelluri was still the head of an organization that often rebuked many of Providence's actions, and, Six was well to remind her twice tonight, that there was the strong chance that he could be one of the shadowed bidders at Brandon's sick auction.

It took all her concentration not to shiver at the possibility of its validity, that others in attendance tonight might be as well, or that Simon acknowledged it indirectly.

"It's unfortunate that Dr. Brandon so cruelly played with the world for his own gain," he started, leading her expertly through the crowd. "It puts a very terrible light on people like us, scientists, trying to help the world. I'm surprised this ballroom is so filled as it is."

They passed Jenna Marsh, who attended every conference held after the Event, and Holiday gave her honest opinion. "The world is getting desperate. It pines for someone who can give us the answers we want so we can go back to our lives."

Simon was silent for a second as he glanced at the stage at the opposite corner of the room.

"I hope I can be that person tonight."

She arched an eyebrow at him, although he did not see it. "Just remember that it was also scientists who started this mess." 

His lip curved downward briefly and he looked at her. "And it will be scientists who clean it up. With Dr. Salazar working with Providence, you must be making progress, yes?"

The question was loaded. He was accusing, inferring, soliciting for information, as was she.

"Yes, but perhaps not in the exact direction I'd like." She shrugged and tossed a sly smile; she would work her charm, too. "With science, life's mysteries don't always reveal themselves when you want them too."

It worked. His grin returned and he leaned closer so that he might whisper in her ear with the eager tilt of his body. "It's amazing what falls into your lap at a time when you most need it."

She rewarded him with a well-placed giggle, light and melodic, accompanying a brush from her hand on his. "It is, isn't it? Or when you least expect it."

"Yes. I can tell to you that tonight's reveal was a godsend. When-"

 _"Place the beacon now,"_ Six spoke gruffly over the comm, interrupting the conversation in her mind, and almost putting a wicked grin on her face. He didn't like the attention Sgambelluri was giving her.

Deftly, she fumbled with the tracking chip on the stud of her earring.

"-the timing couldn't have been any better and-" He noticed her preoccupied expression. "What's wrong?"

"I think I've lost part of my earring."

"Uh..Um..." For once, the Italian looked lost and out of place, glancing at the floor and back to her, whilst trying to remain in control of the situation. It was almost comical, but she used the distraction to slip the tracking beacon into his jacket pocket.

"Don't worry about it," she reassured him. "I'm sure you have much more important things on your mind than a piece of jewlery."

Simon glanced at her briefly then at the stage they had neared and nodded.

He smiled again and offered his hand once more. "Well, Doctor, it has been a pleasure to finally meet you."

"And you." She gave him her best smile. "Good luck tonight."

Teeth, brilliant and perfect, flashed through his lips. "I promise you will not be bored." He bowed slightly. "Now if you'll excuse me."

Holiday watched him leave, navigating through his guests before slipping out the side doors.

"Alright, beacon placed. Do you have a fix?" From her clutch, she fished out the scanner to see if she had one.

_"Yes. Tracking him now."_

She moved closer to the exits on the eastern side of the ballroom. The next course of action was waiting until they had a definite location and route to Sgambelluri's lab, housed in one of the several adjacent buildings surrounding this one. From there, they'd infiltrate it while the main event happened. 

The blip that was Simon Sgambelluri didn't venture very far from the border of the building. Six would be able to narrow down the exact building in a few seconds.

_"I've just lost the fix on our mark. Cowboy, do you still have one?"_

_"Yep, but I'm losing it too,"_ came Callan's reply.

A pause.

_"Doctor?"_

"I still have one. Still strong."

She heard him exhale sharply. " _We're encountering some interference that's weakening the signal."_

A harsh sigh of her own left her mouth. _Of course_ he would lose the signal. _He was too far away_.

"I've got it then," she announced, already making her way to the door that lead to the restrooms. "Cover me."

With only the terse tap of her heels on the marble floor filling the comm, she paid no attention to the silence on the other end. Let him figure out how to solve his problem from his balcony.

The restroom was surprisingly empty, considering the large number of pampered females in attendance, but word had probably spread that Sgambelluri had left the room in preparation. At least the opportunity had opened up a perfect one for her.

Holiday wasted no time confronting the tall but slender window, and after a quick sweep of her eyes around the elegant powder room, wedged it open and exited though it. Elbow room was sparse on the functional balcony, small in its primary use for decor than revitalizing women in the humid Venetian nights. She was wary of the stability of the railing and whether it would hold under her weight, but still she clambered on, balancing delicately on the thin heels of her shoes.

From only the second floor, the murky water of the canal was threatening. Fortunately, or perhaps _unfortunately_ for her, she had two jumps to make, feats she had to perform in a two thousand dollar  dress, heels, and while holding a clutch.

 _"You're all clear,"_ Six informed, although she was not comforted. There was nobody around to watch her fall if she did, only Six and Callan behind binoculars nearly a block away.

The distance from one balcony railing to the next was close enough to cover in one stride and she did so expertly. When she cleared the second one, she released the breath she held when her feet landed on the floor of the outdoor covered corridor. Sgambelluri's blip was in the building that connected to this one by a gangway over the water. She made her way down the stairs to the first floor and crossed it.

_"Once you past the pillars at the end of the gangway, you'll be out of our range of vision."_

That meant she'd be going in blind, not that she wasn't _already_ with the mess that was Six's mission execution.

"Ok."

Sgambelluri no longer moved drastically across the screen of her scanner, staying confined to a small area several meters from where she stood. The gangway opened up into an enclosed promenade that it transcepted to continue onto buildings beyond.

"The building I'm in is one long promenade, with a pier at the south entrance and a plaza at the north," she described.

_"And the lab?"_

"Haven't determined its exact location yet." She sighed at the more than a dozen shops that were both the walls and sections of the structure. Any other day, she would have appreciated the cozy feel the boutiques and bakeries presented, crimson clothed tables scattered about, wooden sconces that weren't golden like the Venetian Rococo influenced ones lining the columns of the ballroom next door, but sadly not tonight. "There are plenty of shops, all closed for the night. One might be a front for-"

"Hey!"

Holiday spun around to face a tuxedoed man, no doubt one of Sgambelluri's men patrolling the premises.

He went to reach for her arm."You can't be over here-"

She struck before he had a chance to finish his sentence or touch her, grabbing his arm, looping hers around his in a deadly vice, and bringing her other hand down hard in a slice that made contact with the base of his neck. Her attacker hit the floor in forced torpor.

 _"What was that?"_ Six's gritted question was full of worry and command.

She looked at the crumpled form as she tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. "Something you should have prevented."

His hum of disapproval was short and terse, but she ignored it as she consulted the tracking scanner again.

The blip was gone.

 _"Shit."_ Now the situation was even more screwed. The beacon device shut off, as it was designed to do when it reached Sgambelluri's lab to avoid detection, but not before they determined its location. Holiday froze. Above the sound of water and boats rocking, she was certain she heard voices, muffled, but speaking rapid Italian.

Her mind quickly interpreted what her frantic eyes danced over and formulated her next action. She bent down to strip the unconscious man of his jacket which she wrapped hastily around her fist and arm, driving it straight into the nearest door. Just like the quickly approaching voices, the ambient noise stifled the breaking glass. Silently praying that the door didn't have a bell attached to it, she opened it and drug the guard into the dark bakery.

Not even three seconds later, Sgambelluri passed the door, chattering with two other men who accompanied him. She stayed low, not daring to move or sweep aside the curtain until a significant amount of time passed.

" _Respond."_

She let thirty seconds of radio silence pass just to be sure. "Close call," she whispered."The Mark is returning back for the main event."

_"Have you located-"_

"Not _yet_ ," she loosed through gritted teeth, already working to bind the guard with his tie while he remained unconscious. "Let me work without distractions."

The comm stayed quiet as she pulled up on her scanner the last location of the beacon before it shut off. "Ok, I have something."

It was not far away, roughly fifteen meters from the bakery, and headed for it.

_"Good. Identify the entrance, then fall back and wait for us."_

Holiday rolled her eyes. _About damn time he got down here_.

She walked seven meters up the promenade and rounded a corner to a small shop that didn't have tables in front of it, but still blended in perfectly with the others. A lonely bulb dimly lit the interior of it, showing a sparse collection of antique doorknobs and handles. _Clever._ She never would have guessed this was the entrance to Sgambelluri's lab.

"Lab located, Samurai," she announced.

His sigh could almost be heard. _"Good work. Now find a safe place to wait."_

Before Holiday heeded Six's command, she ventured closer to the shop, peering into the large window to make certain this was the place. Her eyes swept around the room, immediately noticing the metal door, slid ajar, teasing her of the contents that lay beyond it. She paused at the sight. It was certainly interesting that all the trouble of the antique store disguise would be wasted on such an obvious indication as the door, and she studied intently to figure out what the offensive object was that kept it open. The twilight created by the laboratory's bright glow and the front shop's dim one, however, made it difficult to determine what propped the dividing door.

It took another second for her eyes to focus to the harsh shift in lighting, but she when they did, she wished she had not figured out what it was; a human hand. The next second was all it took for her to understand that the large shadow growing underneath it was blood.

Despite her excellent logic, she flung open the door and confirmed what she wished was a trick of the light. She tapped her earpiece, the confidence her voice had moments ago gone now as she stared at the gory mess of a body carved beyond recognition, an eight numeral sliced into the forehead.

"Samurai, you better get down here fast. You're not going to like what's waiting."


	3. Pointless Nostalgic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six rushes down to Holiday after she locates Sgambelluri's lab and wonders if what awaits them could be connected to his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this chapter has a flashback.

"While we consider when to begin, it becomes too late." ****

* * *

There was a tremor in her voice, a slight shudder that only he would notice after years of knowing her, and it unsettled him because not much ever phased her. The situation that awaited him in Sgambelluri's lab was bound to be bleak, and it seemed with every passing minute, the mission was spiraling out of control.

Shoving himself away from the balcony railing, Six cleared his throat, hoping to pacify her.

"Don't enter the lab until I'm down there. I'll-"

" _I'm already inside,"_ she answered, and he had to stifle a groan of disbelief so it wouldn't travel over the comm.

Her location blipped on his tracking scanner, showing now, the lab's coordinates that the smaller beacon on Sgambelluri couldn't.

His lips thinned. "I said _wait_ for me." Only Cesar, who stood waiting by the door for him, could see his irritable expression, and he tossed the scanner at the doctor, nodding for him to start their way to Holiday. "I'm forty seconds from your position."

Cesar was already halfway down the hotel's decorated hall when Six reached the double doors of the suite, black duffle bag in tow.

He heard Holiday sigh and snap off her gloves angrily.

" _Well, if you weren't so stubborn, you'd already be here_ ," she complained under her breath.

As much as he was glad her anger distracted her from the dilemma in the lab, he really didn't want to have this conversation with six other listeners.

To prove his point, a hushed voice fed into his ear over the radio, unintended, he was sure, to be heard by him. _"I'd hate to be the one who pissed her off."_

He recognized the accent; Samurai-two. _Valenza_. Besides Holiday and Cesar, Valenza was his _other_ headache this evening, but now was not the time for chiding or questioning his decision to bring the man along on the op.

For now, both their comments remained unaddressed.

 _"Don't forget the flux transponder,"_ she reminded, and he tapped his pocket to make certain the device was there.

 _"And Samurai,"_ she added, as if she knew he had already reached the ignored stairwell at the end of the hall, and he could hear the irritation lacing her voice. _"Get me out of this_ damn _dress."_

Valenza spoke again, louder this time, at her final transmission. "Forget what I just said."

 _"Keep the channel clear,"_ Callan barked, and the radio fell to silence.

His shoes clipped the stairs as he flew down them, a flight at a time. The ending of unnecessary chatter should have been something he approved of, but without Holiday and the other agent's small talk to distract him, his mind could only drift back to the playing card in his pocket and the heavy message it carried with it.

**:::**

Never should he have had to set foot again on this island, but here he was, summoned by the rules of the man whose death had brought life to the barren land it used to be. A month had turned the craggy stone into fecund bramble that swallowed his shoes until he was trudging knee-deep up the foliage from the beach. Still, he could make the trip without even thinking, and now was no different, with the exception being that his teacher no longer waited patiently at the end of it.

Before all this, One's unification with the planet, he walked this path up the peak in silent introspection, relying on the stillness of the rugged terrain to alert him of any danger, but the tangle of the grass masked any approaching threat. Leaves rustled, twigs snapped, and branches swayed, moving with the wind as any attacker could.

As any one of the _Numbers_ could. Perhaps, already, they anticipated his reaction to the future meeting.

From highest to lowest, they were all here, in one way or another, to discuss something they really didn't need to. Six flipped the playing card he held and frowned at the illustration; the King of Spades, sword in hand, declaring boldly a new reign. They had never used this card before. Its code symbolized a truth he was still coming to terms with.

_A change in leadership._

For five years, even before the hope he found in Rex, he never believed One would succumb to this new plague. And death? If not by time and old age, then by one of their own hands. As it should have been. Not by unseen machines. It was an end unfitting for the world's deadliest man, and Six's gut wrenched at the shame and truth of it because One was his master, his teacher, his _father_.

The others never truly saw One in that light, which made it all the more painful when he was the only one who would speak for him.

And he would do the same tonight.

His family needed to remember why he battled for One on these very beaches. Two legs or four, red scales or tanned skin, One was still their teacher, s _till_ the deadliest man on the planet, and if they were still playing by the rules of the game, then this presumptuous liaison should end before it even started.

Six paused as he neared the end of the beach trail. The ground leveled out as a small reprieve from the uphill trek from the water, and the new trees seemed to sense it too, for they stopped their sporadic growth to form a clearing and only grass grew to meet the mountainside, shorter here because the heat from the lava funneled out the cave mouth to hinder it. Standing with perfected Castilian posture, Dos waited in the center of the clearing, cave entrance behind him, bathing him in the lava's sinister glow.

"Good. Now we can begin," he clipped and he remained statuesque as the figures of the other Numbers revealed themselves from the brush.

From behind him came a rustling of leaves, and Six tensed when Five grazed her shoulder against his, a dangerous smirk displacing her lips, asserting her position as the best tracker of them all. She made no sound making her way to a place on Dos's left, fully instilling in his mind her semblance of a jaguar, meticulous and lethal, stalking prey with icy devotion.

Following her, he stepped into the clearing, not bothering to mask his steps in the grass like she did, grateful that it was no longer scratching at his ankles. IV and Trey didn't either as they moved to flank him, and he didn't acknowledge Dos's intimidation tactic because it no longer worked on him.

By intentionally withholding information to make him late, the Spaniard thought he was clever reminding him of his rank. The tardiness used to throw him off in the early days because he was the lowest, but he soon realized it was not an indication of his skill or intelligence.

He stopped directly in front of Dos and held up the King of Spades between his index and middle fingers. "We already agreed that One stays leader."

They had _all_ agreed on this _same spot_ last month.

Nodding, Dos held his gaze. "The title and position will always remain his." Unspoken between them was the Rule; that any position in the Numbers had to be won. Natural death was no exception. If anyone passed, the order did not shuffle.

It was sloppy of him, but Dos, with his arrogant scrutiny, noticed the imperceptible slackening of his shoulders and seemed to enjoy delivering the second half of his words.

"But, we of course need an _active_ leader. Someone to return us back to the sway we held over the world."

For the anger he felt, Six wanted to laugh dryly at the statement. Has he been blind these five years? The Golden Age he wanted to return to waned when the Event happened and all but disappeared when One fell ill.

"The world has changed, Dos."

"Into a sandbox. The perfect one for us."

 _Perfect?_ He arched an eyebrow for a definition.

Only the angle of his cane was any indication, but Dos tilted his body forward a hairsbreadth, eager to elucidate.

"Power is shifting between hands faster than sand sifts out of it. Our line of work is magnified _sevenfold_. For every job we did a week, there are now twenty."

Six thought even _sevenfold_ couldn't describe the amount of jobs that stood waiting for them even as they spoke. He still tracked the channels and shadow networks and knew of the overflowing traffic that even spilled into Providence's lap. Dos' information was solid.

"The world is much more dangerous, Six," he finished. "We need to show it how much."

The soles of his hand-cobbled shoes sank back into the fertile earth and the older gentlemen tilted his chin up the slightest, but the pressing urgency of his declaration was revealed by the moonlight, lighting the ridges of his bony knuckles paling over his cane in his impatient grip.

"Then go."

Did they need his permission to continue? It didn't seem so important when One was struggling to stay human. Six clenched his jaw and didn't speak further.

At his sharp answer, half of Dos's face slipped into darkness. "Are you with us? Or are you still playing hero with Providence?"

His fingers skirted the edge of his cuffs, prepared to spring aside for his blades. He never expected the man to understand his departure, and still, the comment riled him as if he had said it the first time all those years ago. "Does it matter?"

The Spaniard's features jutted outward into the moonlight again, scrunched in cold fury. "It _should_ if your name holds any value to you."

Six was ready to _pounce_. He was tired of Dos’ bullshit. It was always the same thing with him. Weight shifting to rush forward, his foot dug into the sand, but the slight depression rooted him to the spot as a memory shot through his mind's eye.

_Throw the sand against the wind and the wind throws it back again._

It was a lesson from early in his life. A lesson from _One_. His were never confined to physical training. Above all else, he valued mental conditioning. A honed mind could win battles far better than the body could.

And now, as Six stood on the edge of a fight, a fight that could shift their order, One was still guiding him from beyond the grave, warning him that battling his brothers now would be futile. He thought he could hear the man's rumbling chuckle in the breeze pushing through the tree branches.

He breathed in the zephyr and exhaled it slowly, empowered by One's presence as he confronted the Numbers.

"Does _One_ mean anything to you?" His gaze burned into Dos's but the question was directed at all of them.

The breeze that blew between them died when the words left his mouth, and everything on the island fell still.

Metal didn't jangle on his arms, but Trey never objected to _anything_ as long as he could continue shattering spines. Under his frock, IV's bandages ceased their writhing. Five's eyes were hidden beneath her pink fringe as she perched on a boulder, looking the most out of place, and yet the least concerned.

He wanted someone, _anyone_ to speak, but as the silence grew, he wondered if he wanted to hear anything at all. His gut twisted when it was the cruelest of them who finally spoke, cane twisting grooves into the sand as he did.

"I'm asking you to fight with us again," Dos murmured. "If not for us, then, for One."

The words stumbled off his lips as if he had just learned the language, and in the strange, halting staccato, Six heard the straining confusion of the second most dangerous man's voice attempting to sound sincere.

It made him reevaluate _everything_ and understand the situation more clearly, understand why this meeting was called, why no one else has spoken until this point, not Trey, not Five, not IV.

They were a sick and twisted _family_.

The label was...loose at best, but it was the closest word to interpret the depraved dynamic they had. Like other families, they were thrown by the death of their father, the one person who held them together, the one connection they had. Like other families, they were coping by becoming closer, by making a pact to continue his legacy. To do that, they needed him. They needed him because he was closer than any of them to One. They needed him because he not only knew their secrets, but because he knew _One's_.

Six _was_ his legacy. This meeting was held for _him_.

He snorted at his revelation. Did One plan this all along? For the least dangerous and most compassionate to carry on the game? He'd made it clear to his teacher the path he had chosen with Providence. _With Rex and Holiday._

As the least in rank, his choice shouldn't matter, but now it did, because it channeled the decision of their leader, a decision they all needed to continue with their lives.

He met every eye; Dos's locked gaze, the Cajun's awaiting stare, IV's glaring trepidation, Five's laden regard--and with her, he had to glance away, because he couldn't stare into her eyes without falling into the dangerous mischief that had once captivated him. With one look she could've changed his mind, made him reconsider the glory of his old life before Providence, before _Holiday_ , but all his thoughts of returning dissipated the moment they fell back to _her_.

His decision remained the same, and he kicked at the earth to spite the Old Man for his foresight as he gave the Numbers his answer.

"Never knew you as the sentimental type, Dos."

Dos' grip tightened over his cane again as his mouth thinned and disappeared underneath his graying moustache.

"Then go."

Six paused, unsure of everything that occurred for a brief, paralyzing half-second; his steadfast decision, Dos's immediate acceptance, and One's edifying presence on the island, before turning around to take the brambled path down to the beach. In his first step and every one after, a perception, deeper and more acute than he ever experienced, possessed him.

The breeze returned again, gusting the tree leaves to applause his exit. He witnessed the blades of grass bowing for the wind, caught the wafting fragrance of gel from the unmoving prominence of Dos' pompadour. With abrasive clarity, he heard Trey's pulse increase the clinking of plates on his gauntlets, and over IV's skin, movement resumed as his bindings recoiled with an irritated rattle, and he could hear, above the cacophony, the dismayed exhale Five released from her perch on the boulder.

His new awareness made the journey back to the beach different than all the past he'd taken. The turbulent emotions that stirred within him during One's meetings weren't present-- worry for his master's condition, contrition at the broadening lengths between his visits, reproach of the new direction he was willingly making.

The development was affecting, in a way he was struggling and striving to comprehend. His life, everything in it, was refined and honed, the result of methodical precision and routine. Tonight lacked the structure of any of it.

Tonight was _disorienting_.

He increased his lumbering trudge over the sand to the hulking assurance of the jumpjet waiting near the water.

"Six." Her voice travelling from the furthering tree line halted him. "Don't do this, love. You know he won't take no for an answer."

She stayed there, unwilling, or unable to leave the cover of the jungle.

He straightened his shoulders. "Neither will I." Dos was not _One_. He could make a good game of it, but he was _not_ playing.

Across the distance, he could hear her hair sway when shook her head, but it could have been the leaves blown by the wind.

"There's absolutely nothing I can say to change your mind is there?" she murmured, mirroring the end of a conversation they once had. And more.

Six kept his gaze on the jumpjet ahead of him. "Not anymore."

"Then take this," she said, her tone biting. "I don't need to tell you what it means."

He was already spinning to face her before the _tanto_ sliced the air towards him, and he let it stick into the sand near his feet in his desperate attempt to catch a fleeting glimpse of pink in the trees, but Five was gone.

At his feet, the moonlight glinted off half the blade not speared through the playing card attached to it-- the six of diamonds.

One's island, humid and sweltering, did not produce the cold sweat that chilled his body.

_An open spot in the Numbers._

_His_ spot.

**:::**

He should have caught up to Cesar by now.

Six rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairwell and ran along the length of wall of the hotel's outdoor corridor.

His lips twisted downwards in contempt. It was foolish to let himself get distracted in his own reverie, foolish to let Cesar out of his sight.

He hoped the scientist had enough sense to remember to activate his suit, else he was wearing five thousand dollars’ worth of stealth technology for the same reason Holiday was wearing her dress. There was a _reason_ everyone was wearing these suits, himself included. The backlash Providence would suffer if they were identified would be sev--

An unseen force slammed him hard against the wall, abruptly cutting his thoughts short, but even though he couldn't identify his attacker, his katana was out and pressing hard against something his reflexes knew was at the height an average man's neck lay. The weapon's pressure interfered with the cloaking, and beneath the rippling distortion, Six could register Cesar's features, annoyed and glaring.

Lowering the blade, he made to move ahead of him, but the scientist, possessing a fierceness that he had never seen, continued to hold him back.

Cesar pulled the mask down briefly to break the concealment and inclined his head at the open archway inches ahead of them. Six finally heard the foreboding echo of approaching footsteps. A second past, and the opening of the archway grew dark as a shadow passed and broke the moonlight flowing through it.

In the dangerous moment, Six _loathed_ himself. He needed to get his damn mind clear of everything that wasn't of this mission, because he'd nearly blown it. He'd let Cesar out of his sight, _and_ , he clenched his jaw to fight back the swelling anger in his chest, it had been the _scientist_ to correct his second mistake.

Disgusted, he broke free of Cesar's grip and slipped out the archway to confront the threat walking on the pier, a guard he was quite sure was one of Sgambelluri's. Without a sound, he shadowed the man, mirroring his steps behind him to get close enough and deliver a powerful strike to the back of his head.

Upon impact, the guard crumpled like a masterless marionette, and Six gripped his arms before he fell to the ground, dragging him back to the corridor. He set him down in a sitting position against the wall.

Cesar regarded the action with impatience and peered through the archway to check the surrounding buildings.

"Wait," Six warned before the scientist might do anything, and he knew he would because the refracted area of half-darkness in which he stood shuddered with the man's distinctive frenzy.

Grudgingly grateful as he was for moments earlier, one circumstance did not make a lifetime of experience. The machinations of the mission were approaching quickly. One error of Cesar's _or_ his could be devastating. His teeth ground in his closed mouth; there have been _many_ errors tonight. He had to regain control. Now that his feet were on the ground, off that restrictive balcony, he could rectify the mission before the rest of the night spiraled into chaos.

"She moved," Cesar stated. He didn't offer the scanner back.

Six tapped his earpiece. "Where are you?" he asked Holiday. His headache was returning again.

_"Bakery. Eighth shop from the south end."_

Even as she spoke, he darted his head out the archway as well, looking out onto the pier and the expanse of water and floating architecture beyond it. Three buildings, the hotel included, were over five stories, blocking the moonlight and looming over the farther half of the pier that connected with the promenade lined with shops. Excellent for cover. It lowered the risk of them appearing in the moonlight for a few vulnerable seconds when it interfered with the cloaking of their suits.

"Okay. Twenty seconds. Cowboy Actual," he broadcasted, "Converge on my approaching location. Samurai units take defensive point around it. Remaining units stay in position." He nodded to Cesar as he slipped onto the open pier. "Let's go."

The wood of the pier, swollen with Adriatic water, absorbed the impact of their footsteps and dulled them to soft thumps not unlike the boats rocking against it. Six made the run in three strides to reach the cover of darkness--Cesar took four.

He was actually impressed he kept up with him so well. In the five seconds more it took to finally cross over to the shop promenade, he started to consider that perhaps he'd been hasty in his assessment of the man who tonight--beyond his normal quirks--possessed concentration and composure that rivaled the other agents.

The lighting was dim in the promenade, low enough that it wouldn't disrupt their suits, still, they approached it cautiously and walked through the enclosure. At the eighth shop, even though it was dark inside, he knew that it was the bakery Holiday was holed in. The opaque veil behind the door moved slightly with a draft that blew into the shop through a broken opening in the glass.

Six and Cesar were nearly at the door. "It's me," he warned her, and the door pulled open to allow them in.

Callan nodded at their entrance, and Six immediately assessed the dark shop. His first observation was its size, maybe four or five square meters, barely fitting the four of them together with the glass display case, at which lay his second observation--a crumpled figure in a tuxedo, bound at the wrists by his belt and blinded with his jacket shrouded over his face.

Six raised in eyebrow at Callan in question of the unconscious form. The captain shook his head once. This was _Holiday's_ work.

He finally looked at her as she leaned on the counter. She gave him no biting retort or comment for his actions tonight, and only met his gaze, regarding him with heavy eyes. The range of her emotions was something he knew well and he recognized the subtle curl of her brows and thinned lips; she was distraught. He knew the ashen pallor of her face was not only from the muted lighting outside. 

Handing her the duffle bag, Six took a step closer than necessary if only for his presence to calm her. "What happened in the lab?"

Holiday took the bag silently at first, moving behind the counter and glass display case to change, although they offered little in the way of modesty. Six kept his eyes on hers, and he was grateful Cesar and Callan averted their gazes to the window.

"Cowboys, how's your position?" Callan asked over the radio, but Six knew it was only for him to speak over the sound of zippers and cloth sliding over skin in the silent bakery. The radio cackled with their responses, and he put them in the back of his mind.

"A slaughter," she murmured, slipping off her heels.

In his peripheral, he saw both men incline their heads at her words, and he, too, listened attentively to her unexpected information, waiting for her to return her eyes back to his.

She frowned deeply and she paused undressing to face him. "It was Amadeo."

Six leaned forward a hairsbreadth. "Are you sure?"

Amadeo Goretti was the man who raised Simon Sgambelluri from childhood, his uncle he never went without, publically or privately. His death meant that they'd either grossly underestimated Sgambelluri or--there were external forces at work.

His gut wrenched. _Dos._

Either possibility meant that he had placed Holiday in their dangerous sight, and the paralyzing realization that he'd done so turned his stomach again. He was not leaving her side for the rest of the mission.

"Very." She was solemn and insistent and he regretted that she had been in the lab alone.

A second passed and she finally looked away to start on the zipper of her dress. "It's possible that-" she paused. "It's possible that the code might--" Her voice died in an exasperated sigh and she moved around the counter again, her back to him, holding her hair up with one hand. "Unzip me."

The bakery fell silent again and there was a shift in tension in the room. Even though it was less than a week since the incident at Moses's lab, both the Providence captain and scientist knew of their relationship in some form or another, but that didn't mean they had to be reminded of it, nor did he want to.

So he tried to do it quickly, before either had a chance to see him perform the action, but the zipper snagged, and he had to grip her waist for leverage to pull it down. Six clenched his jaw and did his best to ignore the overwhelming amount of skin as well as Callan's amused smirk.

"Thanks," she murmured and continued dressing. "It's possible that the code might not even be in there now," she repeated.

He pursed his lips. "Let's hope it is."

The captain inclined his head again, listening to the comm chatter. " _Polizia_ is snooping around. We got about an hour before they realize what we're _really_ up to."

Six nodded. Their check-in with Italian officials was approaching. All of them, barring the two scientists, had to be present for it, otherwise, Carabinieri would quickly deduce that six people were too much protection for two scientists attending a gala.

Now fully dressed in a stealth suit like theirs, Holiday moved to join them in the front of the bakery, and Six was actually surprised that it took her only two minutes to change out of her dress than the two hours it took for her to put it on.

"Then we'd better hurry. I have work to do," she huffed as she pulled whatever loose strands of her hair that weren't tacked by bobby pins into a high ponytail. " _Real work_."

Callan looked from her, to Cesar, then back to him, awaiting his command.

Six did a sweep as well, studying all of them, each of their faces an expression of anticipation, and he hoped wasn't pulling them into something much more deadly than stealing a code strand from a lab.

He pulled the mask back over his face to activate his suit as the others did the same. "Let's go."


	4. Just Ad nauseum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Six finally off the balcony and by her side, Holiday and the others enter Sgambelluri's lab to finally get what they came for. Or do they?

“The world does not make promises to anybody.”

* * *

Tailing Six was a difficult feat even when he deliberately slowed his gait for them to keep pace. Neither she, nor Callan, or Cesar possessed the easy, fluid balance necessary for his long stride, the least of all being her. In the center of their loose formation, Holiday found herself lagging behind, feeling the burn in her calves and hitch in her side as she pushed her body to compete with theirs.

Ten strides--a feat for her compared to earlier-- and they were there, approaching the shop front with trepidation different than when she first did. No longer were they entering the lab, breaking international law and her own personal code. The mission succeeded now at the expense of human life.

Her overwhelming unease returned and produced a daunting chill. If the setbacks of earlier, the guard and beacon, hadn't occurred, delaying her by mere seconds, she'd be lying on the floor of Sgambelluri's lab as well. The realization quelled any remaining anger she had for Six, and she wanted him at her side more than ever tonight because he was the only person who could handle the situation.

Already he was coordinating the extraction, positioning agents, reestablishing the control he always possessed. He entered the dim shop front first, blades leading, as he carefully treaded around Amadeo's body in the doorframe. His camouflage faltered when he stepped into the light of the laboratory before he returned and deactivated it in the shadows.

"Get what you need. Or anything you think you'd need. We won't be coming back here."

Even in the darkness, Holiday could see his lips, thinned in a press that threatened to twist into an emotion she'd never seen displayed on his face.

"Four minutes," he announced and motioned for the two scientists to enter.

Cesar brushed past her, unphased by any external stimulus. It made her envious for once of his consuming, tunneling fixation on a present subject.

She wanted, like him, to ignore Amadeo on the floor, but she couldn't. She was riveted to the scene in the doorway, assessing every angle, eyes running over the body again and again for a new and different conjecture. Distantly, it occurred to her that maybe she _was_ like Cesar, but the diagnosis was pushed aside for the urgency of understanding what was presently going on.

_What_ happened?

There were only two explanations--or twenty. When she entertained each one, the truth only made itself more and more apparent, even when she wanted to believe that it was a freak accident like it usually was; a violent mutation, human error, miscalculation. The wounds here were too deliberate. She'd seen enough under a scalpel, seen enough of Six's prowess, to know what a blade in skilled hands could do to flesh.

With that conclusion, her mind went further, settling for the answer of something between monster and mercenary, because whoever had been here tonight _eviscerated_ Amadeo Goretti. Lacerations were everywhere.  At the throat; _common carotid, jugular_. At the wrists; _radial artery_. The fatal precision was unmistakable, but last to be delivered. Underneath the exsanguinating slashes were more telling incisions. _Achilles tendon, palms, forearms_ ; he put up a fight and suffered for it.

Disgust rose within her, pulling her mouth into a thin frown. She didn't know the man, but he didn't deserve _this_. In life, he had been a genial elderly man, standing in the shadow of his nephew, providing support. On the laboratory tile, he resembled a culled bird, strewn and discarded because someone had deemed him dispensable.

And _who_ had made the decision? She didn't feel it was Simon. He was slick and ostentatious, but he wasn't heartless—

Her immediate assumption of the man made her pause because she was reminded of Moses’ sneering jest. She trusted too easily, he’d said, dangerously relying on her assumption that everyone was working to find a cure like she was. Her judgment was impaired. What did she know of Sgambelluri in the few minutes she'd met and conspired against him? Nothing. Moses was _right_ , and damn him for discerning it so easily. _Damn_ him.

"Doctor."

Six slid between her and the doorframe, disconnecting her from Amadeo's body and from her thoughts. His sudden presence was jilting as was his concerned expression.

"The code," he reminded.

"Forget it," Cesar murmured. "It's not here."

"What?"

Both she and Six faced him as he tossed fragmented shards of transponders and processors back onto countertops, and she realized just how much she had let herself become distracted with Amadeo. Every piece of equipment in the lab was destroyed. Monitors, keyboards, processors, samples, all of it was irreparably damaged or contaminated, and Cesar was standing in the middle of it, fingers irritably tracing his jawline.

"It's _gone_ ," he repeated, shoving the remnants of a tablet out of his path with his boot.

Holiday took a step further into the laboratory, glass and metal crunching under her own boots. The disorder was instantly draining and a wave of fatigue and disappointment washed over her. All that work gone, and not just what they'd done in preparation for tonight. Whatever Sgambelluri and Haven were working on, it was literally lying in a million pieces on the floor. _Every scientist’s nightmare_. A nightmare that was quickly becoming hers. She _needed_ that code strand, could've used it to do more than what she could have done with Moses' device.

"Alright." A tired sigh escaped her as she shook her head and tried to orient herself in the lab.  "Let's see if we can salvage anything."

The difficulty of the task was distinguishing what would have been main servers and operating stations, the most likely to contain valuable data. Everything was scattered enough to make any semblance of order gone. Holiday glanced back at Amadeo. Even in death, he could be useful in determining main locations. The position of his body might be indicative. Assuming he was caught unaware and attacked at the station he was working at, she could follow the bloody streaks and handprints on the tile.

She grimaced. They were more grisly than looking at his body; a visual record of his excruciating struggle to stay alive. He had crawled and dragged himself across the lab, first away from his attacker and then to escape for help. _Revolting_.

She followed the trail around a counter until it stopped--or started, rather--at the remains of a computer. The now two halves of the monitor slanted towards each other, and the keyboard was smeared with blood on specific keys. Jackpot. Holiday bent to the cabinets underneath in search of the processor and was blasted with foul smoke when she opened them. Tucking her nose into the crook of her arm, she fanned to clear the burning metallic stench, and pulled it out to access the damage. It was extensive. Much of the internal components had been reduced to slag.

"Damn." This was a _thorough_ job. Probably a volatile system directive that flash heated the hard drive until it melted itself--one of the worse kinds of memory wiping; or best, depending on who intended to have the data. Attempts at data recovery yielded few results, if ever. She'd have to work with whatever she was able to scrounge here.

Resignedly, she made quick work of the processor remains, prying open the case and wrenching the distorted hard drive from everything it had soldered to. After a few seconds of bending and warping, it snapped free. The box was still hot, heat seeping through her gloves, but she dumped it into her backpack.

Holiday stood up and started a mental triage of the items on the countertop. There were a few papers scattered on the desk, but no time to sit and decipher the charts and Italian. She appropriated those too. They _could_ be useful, or they could have just been printouts of data she didn't care about; fiscal reports, software performance... The cover of something rolled off the papers as she grabbed them and a rush of excitement refilled her as she recognized it immediately.

A _datarod_. The code might still be here!

"Look for a datarod," she announced. "Probably gray." She searched the floor, scrutinizing the debris more carefully than before. She retraced Amadeo's steps, forward this time, until she reached his body again. Cesar reached it the same time she did and started rifling through the pockets of his jacket.

" _What are you doing?"_

He didn't look up and continued searching. "I'm checking if it's on him," he said. He searched up a sleeve, and when he found nothing, moved to the next one.

She cringed when Amadeo's hand dropped to the floor with a heavy slap.

"Do you have to do it _like that_?" she snapped.

Cesar paused. "Would you like me to ask him _politely_?"

Holiday glared at him, but he brushed it off, like everything else.

"I know this perturbs you, Doctor," he said, resuming the pillage, "But you don't know what it's like to have your work tampered with by some fool who thinks he's the next superstar scientist." His speech slowed, words sharpened. "They don't understand the foundations of it, nor even consider what was trying to be achieved. It's just a game, a _competition_."

Her anger returned, a powerful coursing rush that intensified the longer she looked at him. It wasn't that he was brusquely indifferent to the dead anymore, but that he presumed, _in that racing mind of his_ , that he understood things he did not. She ignored that his speech reduced to muttering in Spanish under his breath or that Amadeo's body yielded nothing useful, because she needed to correct him. Get it through his thick skull that the world's been suffering for five years, not the fifteen minutes he believes it to be. That she's spent that time trying to clean up whatever the hell went wrong, including _this_ tonight, at the expense of countless people. Amadeo, Beverly, _Rex_. If they didn't mean anything to him, at least his own brother should, and she was going to start with that--

Six's fingers wrapped around the crook of her elbow and he pulled her close to him as he stepped to block her from Cesar.

"Not now," he advised.

For a moment, Holiday considered unleashing her ire on him, her anger at him reigniting for interrupting her, and she saw his lips thin in the hopes that she wouldn't.

She looked at his hand, letting herself calm before meeting his gaze.

"Okay," she sighed.

"Come here."

Again she was hit with fatigue, and she allowed Six to nudge her gently out of the laboratory and back into the dim front shop. He let her lean on a glass display case and the door knobs inside it rattled slightly when she did.

"Was there an elderly Spanish man at the gala?" he asked quietly.

"What?" She squinted at him, not expecting the question at all. He didn't repeat himself and simply waited for her answer.

"I'm not sure," Holiday answered. "Why? There were…several." Her focus had been on Sgambelluri earlier, not other guests. There were quite a few men she determined as European, but Spaniard? Difficult to determine without talking to them. "Four at least," she said. That was all she knew for certain. Why was this important?

Holiday glanced back to the door, eager to get back even as the sight of Cesar beyond it bristled her anew. Her view was obstructed again as Six angled himself to do so and he gripped her arm tighter.

"Please remember,” he said. “Carrying a golden cane.”

Now his fingers were beginning to feel like a vice and she looked pointedly at it, irritation rising.

" _Why_?" she challenged.

Six clenched his jaw and released her arm. She glared up at him, eyebrow arching, but whether he was going to answer or not, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Rex. She knew from the impatient sigh Six gave at the number when he recognized it.

He took a step away from her to answer it, making the wise decision of including her in the call.

“Yes?”

"Hey, Six,” she heard Rex start through her earpiece. “So... how's Italy? Since, ya'know, _everyone_ is there except me. Can I go to a rock concert with Noah and Bobo? I promise I won't injure anybody in the mosh pit this time."

Holiday smiled faintly. At least he was learning to ask permission now, though always at the worst possible time.

"Also, can I take Bev?" he tacked on after his question.

Oh. _Now_ she knew why he had called. If he wasn’t planning on taking her sister, he wouldn’t be calling.

Six glanced at her and she raised her eyebrows in consent. She’ll call them later to give her conditions.

"Yes,” Six told him.

"Yes I can go? Or 'Yes I can go _and_ bring Bev?'"

"Both."

Rex squealed his delight, and she could imagine him punching the sky. "Awesome! You guys are the best. I love you so much."

There was a click as he hung up, returning her and Six back to the tension of the situation. He turned to face her fully, a tentative expression on his face. When his lips parted to speak, she didn’t hear because it was drowned out by the first of the explosions.


	5. Never Going Out Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rex and Beverly go to the Trendbenders concert!

** Chapter 5- Never Going Out Again **

  _"A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions."_

* * *

 

Rex stabbed the end call button with his thumb. "They said yes!"

"Alright!" Beverly cheered.

He set his hand up for an epic high five, which she enthusiastically gave.

"How'd you get my sister to say yes?" she asked in amazement.

"Well, I asked Six to ask her. If I can convince _Six_ , I can convince her."

"Ah, noted," she murmured, looking very much like she was really making a mental note of the information.

That made him pause for a second and consider something. He and Beverly could be the perfect match for Six and Holiday, the extra push he needed to get more free time from them. Huh. Maybe he should offer her his own personal advice as well.

"The real trick, though," he added, "Is to ask them when they're distracted."

She thought about it a moment and nodded slowly with a grin when she saw how it worked.  " _Nice."_

He grinned too. "Not causing any collateral damage to cities in a week or two also helps too." That was his own _personal_ personal advice, but hey, whatever works.

"How much do you _usually_ cause?"

"Not much, like a building or two or three." He shrugged. "Depends on the EVO really."

"What about that time you destroyed a whole town?" Bobo asked, suddenly standing in the doorway of their room.

"That was a _ghost_ town, _in the middle of the desert,"_ Rex clarified. "And that doesn't count." The monkey was _seriously_ cramping his style right now.

Bobo scratched his chin. "Did you get permission already?"

"Yeah."

He threw his hands up. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go. I don't even know why you had to ask."

"Um, because! Holiday would get mad. Have you _seen_ her angry? _She turns into a dragon_. Not even Six gets in her way."

Rex turned to Beverly. "No offense, but your sister is _totally_ scary when she gets angry."

She waved hand. "Oh no, I totally understand. A bit like our dad sometimes."

"Okay good." He relaxed, then squinted at her. "That's not like a genetic thing, though, right?

She smiled. "No, I'm cool."

"Good, 'cause I only hang with _cool."_

Bobo snorted. "Then by your rules, you shouldn't hang with us."

He felt the heat rush to his ears. Style cramp. _Again_.

"Very funny," he grumbled, and led the way out of room to hanger.

Beverly caught up to him though, and looped her arm around his. "Thanks so much for this, Rex. Seriously. My sister just wants me to _rest_. The mall was one thing, but a Trendbenders concert?  This is fantastic."

Rex rubbed his neck and gave a small smile. "It's no problem really. The grownups all went to Italy, so I thought we should have some fun."

"If you ask me," Bobo interrupted, "We should have done something better. Like rearranging all the furniture in their rooms, reupholstering them with granny floral print, and painting the walls hideous colors."

Beverly whipped her head around. "You should totally do purple for my sister's room. She _hates_ that color."

At the suggestion, the chimp grinned. "Miss Holiday, you are a bad girl. Tell me more."

Rex quickly put a hold on that plan. "Uh, let’s _not_ do anything that will get me grounded, alright?" he suggested, garnering a weird look from Beverly.

"Rebecca grounds you?"

"Yes," he admitted through gritted teeth. "But she doesn't take things away. She gives me things, like _reading_ and _essays._ "He remembered his last punishment: four boring-as-White-at-a-Monday-morning-meeting literature books, with accompanying critical essays. And Holiday has Noah give her samples of his writing so she knows he didn't write it for him.

She cringed. "Harsh."

"Yep. First thing you should know around here: Bad influence _numero uno_ ," he said, gesturing at Bobo.

Bobo shrugged. "I like to think of it as _alternative_ influence."

"So how are we getting to the concert?" Beverly started. "It's in San Diego right? We're like in Arizona or New Mexico, or..."

"No place really," Rex finished for her. "HQ kind of sits in both states." It didn't really matter to him anyway. He just got on a jumpjet or the Keep, and if he kept himself busy long enough, they were on the other side of the world--usually China--now that he thought about it. More people, more EVOs, he supposed. "And, we're flying there."

"Nice," she said again.

He nodded in full agreement. "Yup. Working for a top secret organization _definitely_ has its perks." Rex smiled to himself. Like impressing girls.

"But they don't pay you," she noted.

His smile faltered. _Wow_. She was hard to impress. Like _really_ hard. Maybe, he suspected, it was because he was seeing the similarities she shared with her sister, like her intelligence. And the fact that she challenged everything he said. But like a _good_ challenge. The kind that kept him on his toes.

"Well no, not like a salary or anything, but I get basically anything I want."

Bobo snickered. "That's if Six and Holiday say yes."

At the comment, Beverly looked thoughtful. "So, are Six and my sister are dating?" she asked slowly.

"Well, I don't know about _that."_ Really, he didn't. He spent the longest time just trying to figure out if the man was a robot, let alone _dating_. But, Six and Holiday having a thing? Seems about right, now that he thought about it. He just never saw it because he always had a thing for Holiday. _That_ was over now.

He glanced at Beverly for a moment. She was making him see new things now.

"They went on that date the other day when we went to the mall," he offered.

She glanced sidelong at him, skeptical. " _C'mon_ , the first thing I saw after I was cured was her on top of him."

Rex grimaced, the image still fresh on his mind. _"Really_ , trying to forget about that."

"Why's he called Six?"

His smile returned. There it was. The Question. And now he actually knew the answer.

"'Cuz he's the sixth most dangerous man in the world."

Her eyes widened. "And he’s your _guardian_?"

Heh. "More like mentor-nanny-sidekick."

She whipped around to face him, walking backwards. "So does that mean you've got a rank too?"

"Yep. _Numero Uno_. Unofficially. One time, me and Six went back to back and took down Two through Five."

Beverly raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed," she finally admitted with a smile, returning to a normal walking direction.

Rex gave himself a mental high five.

They reached the main hanger, and when he shivered at the severe change in temperature of the frigid base to desert air, he saw that she did too--definitely a good thing to know he wasn't the only one who did that. Six and Holiday trudged right on through like a rise of fifty degrees was nothing.

She ran ahead of them when the doors parted to the catwalk, stopping in the middle of it to gape at the fleet housed below. If she liked this, then she'd like that the main hanger only housed the _main_ aerial fleet. There was still the auxillaries for ground vehicles, naval, and special ops, which they normally used. Oh yeah, and Cesar's lab, if he counted that too. He didn't think Bev was the kind of girl to be impressed by machines, but yeah. That was cool to know, since he was part machine.

When they reached the stairs at the end of the catwalk, she spotted the cherry-red roadster parked off to the side. "Why can't we take _that_?"

Rex raised his eyebrows in alarm. "Because that's Six's. And _that_ would be pushing it." Sure he was all for impressing Bev and all, but he'd like to live and see his next unofficial birthday.

She made a noise that he wasn't sure was disappointment or agreement, but she glanced sidelong at him again and grinned. "I bet you he only takes my sister in it."

He'd have laughed if his mouth didn't drop in realization of her observation, because he _did_ only take Holiday in it--usually for Mexican food.

Bobo released a guffaw that echoed in the hanger, and all the pilots lounging in it glanced in their direction.

He clapped Beverly on her shoulder, very amused.

"This girl sees everything. You should play poker with me and the grunts sometime." 

While thinking about all the things that could go wrong with that plan--and the fact that Bobo never invited _him_ to play--Rex scanned the hanger for a pilot. And speaking of grunts and poker, a few of them were in a corner playing near the jet refueling pumps. It looked like Williams, Singh, Highmore, and the new guy, Franklin. Or Franco. Francis. _Francis?_  

"Francis!" he called out. 

"What?" Francis called back.

Yep, got it. "Six gave us permission to go to the Trendbenders concert in San Diego. You down for being chauffer tonight?" 

Francis conversed with the other pilots before answering. "What's in it for me?" 

"Uh. Vacation?" 

"That's what you said _last time_. I have double graveyard shift for two months."

Rex cringed and looked to Bobo for help. 

Bobo rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yo, Frankie! I'll buy you in next four games, how's that?" 

This time Francis didn't consult with the other grunts, and Rex could see him smile from across the hanger. 

"Dust off in five," he agreed, gesturing to the jet they were going to use. 

Bobo started walking ahead of them. "You owe me big time,” he muttered.

Rex ducked his head. "I know, I know! Thanks, man." He turned to smile apologetically at Beverly. They did just have that discussion about no salary and all. 

"Heh, sorry about that. That doesn't usually happen." Well, not _normally_ usually. 

She brushed it off with a shrug. "Why don't you just learn how to fly? Seems simpler."

"Never needed to. Got my own set of wings, remember?" 

"Oh yeah, that's right," she murmured and fell into silence. 

There was a moment when her expression fell into confusion, and it bothered him with the implications. 

"Um, sorry about that. I'm still catching up to everything." 

"Yeah, don't worry about it." 

There was an awkward silence now, and every second of it made him feel terrible, because there was a time when he felt like she did; confused, embarrassed, struggling. 

He _still_ felt like that. 

 Just yesterday, he had breakfast with Cesar, and it was uncomfortable. His brother made him his favorite meal--he knew it was his favorite because Cesar had said so--but he had to figure out for himself, with Six and Holiday years ago, that fried rice with chorizos and eggs sunny-side up, were his favorite. Cesar talked all about Papi and their days on the ranch. He just quietly shoveled eggs into his mouth hoping it would help him remember, and really, that was all he really wanted. He just wanted to contribute to a conversation for once without stopping it and gaining polite smiles from people. 

It occurred to him that, for once, he actually had a chance to help Beverly in a way he couldn't with other people. He knew exactly how she felt, everything, and he knew how she would feel. The best thing right now, would be to get her talking about something she knew about. 

"Your sister can though," Rex blurted. 

Beverly looked up quizzically at him. "What?" 

"Uh, fly a jet, that is," he clarified, both of them having reach the ramp to the jumpjet already. 

Her face lit up, and Rex found himself smiling broadly too. 

"I know! She's had her pilot's license since she was thirteen." 

He stopped at the top of ramp. " _Thirteen_?" 

"Yep. Dad's insistence." She pushed past him, chose a seat, and started with her safety harness.  Rex chose one across from her.

"I would have had mine, too," she continued. "I had like two months to go until I turned into a giant spider." 

"Hey," he smiled across from her, "Don't worry about it. You were an awesome giant spider. Before you know it, you'll be an awesome pilot." 

Beverly grinned. "Then we don't have to have a chauffeur." 

The trip to San Diego only took them twenty minutes, and Francis dropped them off in the basketball court in the park across from Biggie's Fries and Shakes. It was kind of his unofficial drop zone. Biggie didn’t seem to mind—he was his best customer, after all. As they exited the jet, Rex saw Noah waiting on a picnic table for them and he waved vigorously from across the distance. 

“Hey,” Noah called out casually as they drew knew near. 

“Hey,” Rex echoed. “This is Bev,” he introduced. 

With a smile, Noah offered her his hand. “We met before. You tried to kill me once.”

Beverly cringed slightly, but Rex saw it was lighthearted. “ _Yeah,”_ she drew out. “Sorry about that.” 

Noah shrugged it off. “No worries. I was an EVO once, too. I caused six hundred thousand dollars of collateral damage to New York City.” He looked almost proud. 

Her face lit up. “Yeah? Can’t say I’ve done that much.” 

“It’s a gift.” 

She squinted between the two boys. “Hey is that like a requirement you have to do for Providence? Collateral damage?” 

“Like a daily quota. I brought a bat for you.”

Bobo rolled eyes. “And people say _I’m_ the negative influence.” 

Rex patted her back. “See, I told you you guys would get along.” 

“Okay,” Bobo barked, pushing in between the three of them. “So now that we all know each other, let’s get something to eat!”

“You in the mood for some fries and shakes?” Rex asked Beverly. 

She raised her eyebrows eagerly. “As long as it’s not Providence cafeteria food,” she said.

Noah frowned. “Hey, c'mon it’s not _that_ bad. You guys get some pretty good chow. What the officers and scientists get is totally different from the slop in basic.” 

“Do you eat it every day though?” 

“Good point.” 

“Well, Fridays are the good days anyways,” Rex told her. “Family dinner. Six usually cooks, or we get authentic takeout.”

“Yeah. It's pretty awesome,” Noah added.

Rex smiled at her. "And now that you're here, it'll be awesomer.” 

Despite it being a few hours after lunch, right before everyone got off work and school and wanted some chow, there wasn’t much of a line at the snack shack. 

Bobo made it his job to help Beverly with her order. “The nachos'll give ‘ya bad heartburn. So will the teriyaki. The double-double is good though. Wash it down with a strawberry shake and…” 

Noah yanked him aside. “You _do_ really have tickets for this thing, right? You’re not just going to try to impress your way in like usual?” 

“Yeah, don't worry. We pick them up at willcall." 

“You’re _sure?_ ” 

“Totally.” 

“ _Okay_ ,” Noah sang, not entirely believing. 

“Noah, _c’mon._ Don’t worry about it. I. Got. This.” 

It was his turn to order and he got a Double-double. Alright, a _double_ Double-double with a vanilla shake and some chili fries. He was mucho hungry. They all chose a bench under the shade of the shack’s tin roof. 

“So, Beverly,” Noah started, in between bites,”Whatcha been catching up on since you’ve been cured? How much time have you missed? I mean, if you’re cool talking about it.”

Beverly put down her burger. “No, no! It’s cool.” She sipped her shake. “Um, like five years?” 

“Whoa, five _years_?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like a long time though, to me. My sister says I’ve missed a lot. Like school, and history. Rex fills me in on all the fun things though; Star Wars eight and nine, Incredibles 2, like three Trendbender albums, a whole bunch of things.” 

“Do you like Rhythm Pirates?” 

“Is that the one with like Jude Treltas and he’s like a dancer in a team and they compete for fame or something?” 

“Yeah that’s the one! Rhythm Pirates 4 comes out next week. We should all watch it.” 

“Cool, but I haven’t even seen the first one.”

Rex stopped chewing mid-sentence. “You’ve never seen Rhythm Pirates?” 

“I was a giant spider, _remember_?”she tossed back at him. 

“Oh yeah! Sorry.” He ducked his head. “I’m pretty forgetful too, like all the time. But hey,” he added, pausing to swallow, “When we get back to HQ, we’re gonna watch one to three. We can watch ‘em in the big viewing room too. Surround sound, 3D, plush seats.” 

Beverly seemed to like that. “Definitely!”

* * *

 

“Dude, no way. No way _._ ”

Rex grinned. “I know.” 

“No _way_.” Noah peered down the railing. They were on the Grand Tier in a private luxury box, with tv screens if they wanted a closer look. “I can’t believe we’ve got like the best seats in the house.” 

They really were. He wasn’t kidding when he said he had tickets. Actually, he had tickets to _every_ event that was hosted in the Mission Concert House. Plays, concerts, conventions, you name it. All courtesy of the Garcia family that owned it; it was their gratitude to him for curing their daughter. Now, he didn’t go to everything—some of it was adult boring gala stuff, but maybe he might go to more things, for Bev’s sake. And he’d take Six and Holi along too, so they wouldn’t get fussy. 

“I’m gonna get some snacks,” Bobo announced. “Gonna make sure I milk this arrangement for all it’s worth.” 

“I don’t think snacks are part of the deal, man,” Noah said. 

“They are,” Rex added. “Grab me some jellybeans and gummi bears please?” He turned to Beverly. “You want anything?” 

She shrugged. “M&Ms? Or, no, wait. A slushie?”

“Alright, candy for fatso, and a slushie for the lovely lady. Whatchyou want blondie?” 

“Uh, not sure. What do they have?”

Bobo rolled his eyes. “Do I _look_ like I work behind the counter?” he grumbled. 

Noah looked scandalized. “My bad. I’ll just go with you and pick something out.”

The two left and Beverly glanced over at him.

“So I guess working for Providence, really does have it perks,” she grinned. 

“ _Helping_ people has its perks.” He smiled softly, elbows resting on the railing next to her. “And I don’t do it _just_ for the perks. I really do like helping people. I’m the only one who can.” 

“So you’re just a regular kid who’s also a superhero.” 

He chuckled. “Something like that. But regular kids go to school and have parents, and memories. I’ve got a leading scientist for a tutor and doctor, a talking monkey for a roommate, and a ninja.” 

“Regular kids aren’t monsters for five years, either,” she said evenly, and he couldn’t tell if she was serious, joking, or both. 

“That leading scientist is pretty good, you know. She’ll have you back to being regular in no time.”

That seemed to lighten her mood, because she smiled for a moment. “Well, Rebecca’s my sister. She’s going to want to make everything how it was before, but…” 

“But, you don’t think it’ll feel right?” 

“Yeah. Like…it’ll be _weird_ trying to go back to what my life was like before I changed.” Beverly chewed her lip. “I haven’t seen them yet, but my sister says my parents are different. My dad’s, uh, got some scars from my transition, and my mother only sees adult patients now.” 

As much as he wanted to remember who he was, he didn’t think he’d ever want to go back to it. He couldn’t. His parents were gone, his brother was a stranger. He’s already made this life at Providence—he couldn’t just drop it all and forget it ever happened. 

“I’m sure they’ll just be glad you’re back.” 

“Yeah.” She looked to the clamor of the audience below them. “I know that’s not something any family of an incurable can say.” 

“Not _yet_ ,” he encouraged. “Your sister’s done what every scientist in the world has been trying to do for a long time.” 

She looked at him seriously. “Do you suppose I can help the people she cures?” 

“Yeah. I mean, why not? Who else would understand better than you?” 

Beverly smiled at him, and suddenly the noise level shot through the roof, and the lights dimmed and she exclaimed, “They’re starting the first set!” 

She jeered and whistled, a tremendous grin on her face. Rex knew they wouldn’t really talk about anything else for the rest of the night. Although he could tell this was something that weighed heavily on her mind. If she wanted to, they could talk more back at HQ. For some reason, he still wanted to stay on the subject, as serious as it was, like something he’d discuss with Holi. He wondered if he was as focused as Beverly was when Six first found him. Considering all the time she was an EVO, she was adjusting really well compared to other people he’d seen who only transitioned for a week. She was very… _logical_. Er, practical? Yeah. Six would say practical—that’s how he described Holi. 

He laughed. He wondered how the two new lovebirds were doing on the other side of the world at their fancy operation? Probably not having as much fun as they were. 

The opening band was pretty good, enough to want to listen to their album. Nice bass lines and drums. Maybe he’d convince Noah to buy it and he’d borrow it from him. He and Bobo came back just in time, snacks in tow, to hear their third song, which definitely was worth listening to. When the song ended, the lead singer finally said the magic words. 

_“How’re you all doing tonight?”_

“Whoo!” Their cheers filled the luxury box.

**“Give it up for the TrendBenders!”**

Rex turned to Beverly to offer her some jellybeans, but instead of the excitement of earlier, she clutched her temple, rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” 

She shook her head, wavering slightly. 

“Guys!” he called to Noah and Bobo. “She’s not feeling well.” 

Noah took her drink, and Bobo asked, “You wanna sit down, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” she said weakly. 

Rex moved to place his hand on her back and guide her to a chair, but the moment he touched her, there was a spark in the air, and he felt like he could not let her go. A burn shot up his arm for an instant, and she fell limp. He was unprepared for either, and they both nearly dropped to the floor, if Bobo hadn’t taken much of Beverly’s weight. 

He felt like he’d taken a sucker punch to his stomach. Six is gonna be pissed, and Holiday! _Ohgodwhatwouldshesay?_ He was afraid to touch her again, but he lightly tapped her cheek a few times. “Bev! Beverly!”

It was Noah who did anything first. He shook Rex’s shoulder, jolting him.

“Rex! We need to get her back to HQ,’ he yelled in his ear.

HQ. Right. Hesitantly, he scooped her up—she was so _light_ — and did what he knew best. He built his wings, pushed off the railing, and flew up into the warm evening sky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -What's happened to Beverly? 
> 
> -How do you think Holiday will react?


	6. Almost Undamaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of explosions, Six has to focus on damage control.

 In the larger affairs, the minor are forgotten.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he was aware of was water. It flooded quickly, already ankle-deep, as it mixed with debris. The next was Holiday. She was already standing, eyes alert and already on his.

"You okay?" He could see that she was, and that his arm had shielded her face from the flying glass of the display case.

She nodded, doing her own once-over of him, stopping briefly at his arm. "Cesar?"

His ears rang a little, and while she broke name protocol, he was more worried of being caught in the sinking lab. They both turned towards the lab door, seeing at once that the frame was nearly half-submerged.

"I got him," Six said. "You head out."

He feared she would object, and there really wasn't any time for it, but she was on her way out when he turned back to her. Good.

“Cowboy, Doc’s coming your way. I’ll get the other two.”

 “ _Affirmative_.”

He waded to the doorway, forcing himself to ignore the cool water rushing up to his chest. The floor underneath him started to give and he treaded the rest of the way to the darkened room. A hand gripped the doorframe suddenly and Cesar pulled himself through, supporting Nyquist with the other arm. Blood ran down the left side of the scientist’s face from a gash above his hairline.

"I'm fine," he said but inclined his head at the other man. "He's injured though." 

"Bad?"

Nyquist nodded, and even in the darkness he could see his pallor. “My arm's broken."

"C'Mon."

With Nyquist and Cesar now, he gave the order for everyone to get back to the hotel. “Everyone hightail it back to the farm. _Do not be seen_.”

_“Won't it look suspicious I'm not there?”_ Holiday pointed out.

Shit, he forgot about that detail. She was very high up on the list of suspects that was probably being made because she represented Providence. He could think about that later. Priority was returning back to the hotel, after that, well, they could sort this landslide then.

_“You want me to take her?”_ Callan asked.

“If you can. If you think it’s too hot, get out.”

_“Roger.”_

The three of them made it to the doorway, and Nyquist’s wound gave way to other problems—his suit was breached, torn by the protruding bone of his humerus. Six gritted his teeth. The man would go into shock soon. Luck was on his side, because the blast had knocked out most of the lights on the walkway.

Halfway to the hotel, Six stopped them on the pier and pulled them onto a water taxi docked in the shadow of the surrounding buildings.

“Get his bleeding under control,” Six instructed Cesar. He pulled up the compartment in the flooring near the captain’s chair in search of a first aid kit—what any smart boat owner would be sure to have onboard. On public transportation, a guarantee. Immediately he found it, scrounging through it for a container of any kind and handed the bag to the men. 

Out on the pier again, he scooped up seawater and spilled it along the dock to clear off Nyquist’s blood. It would be stupid to dodge the bombing only to leave a trail of blood all the way back to their doorstep. At least it would be the only thing they did right; this mission couldn’t have been fucked up even more. He paused to listen to the night, the stillness of earlier filled now with approaching sirens and screams. The symphony of chaos. This used to be his world, his song. He reveled in it once, now it disgusted him. It was raucous, it was noise. 

He returned to Nyquist and Cesar who had done a decent job of a sling to stabilize the broken limb.

“Good?” Six said. 

“Good enough,” Cesar answered.

He nodded. “Head back. I’ll clean up.”

The two slipped out beside him, and once he was sure they were out of the boat, he set to work. Drawing his swords, he plunged them into the paneled bottom, slicing until a large section slipped into the dark water, allowing the vehicle to quickly flood. It was more collateral, but it was the quickest way to get rid of biological evidence.

He continued down the pier, catching up to them in two strides—this return trip felt like a marathon. They reached the back stairwell without any difficulty, although chatter was echoing throughout the building, reactions to the explosion and frenzy in the canals. It was extreme luck on their part they had been given the suite on the end of the hotel because it meant the rest of their path would be empty. They reached the room, and he quickly did a scan to count heads. Callan and Holiday were in the count.

“It was a hornet’s nest,” she explained, moving to examine Nyquist. “The chair,” she directed the men.

“No problems getting back?”

“None,” Callan answered. “But people are beginning to fill their balconies for a good look into the action.”

“And you?” he asked of Beasley, Wade and Valenza. They had the closest vantage point.

“No, sir.”

“How is he?” 

Holiday’s mouth was thin as she examined the wound. “Compound fracture. He has to go to a hospital."

Six exchanged a grim glance with Callan. They all knew that was not an option. Not with his injury coinciding with the explosions.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Nyquist was looking poorly by the minute.

From the corner of the room near the lamps, Valenza began firing in rapid Italian into a cellphone. Who the hell was he talking to? He’d find out when he had solved this dilemma with Nyquist. One problem at a time.

"I'm at a five,” he said calmly. “In my shoulder. I can't feel anything below it."

Lack of sensation, pain or otherwise, meant nerve damage. He really did need medical attention they couldn’t provide very quickly. He glanced at Holiday who glanced at Nyquist. “Do you want anything? Meds? Wine?” she joked weakly. “I can’t do much else.”

“I’ll take whatever you got, Doc.”

"Can you take thirty minutes?" Valenza interjected, off the phone. Everyone looked skeptically at him. "My cousin is a nurse at a hospital in Venezia on the Mainland. She works with a doctor who is sympathetic to Providence--Rex cured her aunt--and she is willing to be discreet."

Six was stunned for a full two seconds. "Can you guarantee that?"

Valenza nodded firmly, absolutely sure. Six would have shown his appreciation, had the situation not been the snafu that it was. He had just become his most invaluable agent tonight.

"Alright. I'll have you lead this side quest. Take Wade with you. Dress like civilians.” He glanced at Nyquist again—the man couldn’t lift his arm without damaging it further. He grimaced. “If you have to, cut him out of his suit.” Another item for the growing collateral list.

"Thank you, Sir."

“Don’t thank me just yet. It’s going to be a long night.” He locked eyes with Holiday briefly before she returned to attending to Nyquist.

Callan turned on the television, putting it on Ultimate Exposure, and they all turned their attention to it. Diane Farrah and her crew had exclusive broadcast rights at the Gala, and now that translated to exclusivity in the first moments of this attack. He estimated it had been around ten minutes since the initial blast, and they had continued broadcasting live since the event. 

There had been three explosions, two at the lab and one report of a water taxi in the vein of a car bomb. Naturally, it was chaos, and the guests, with the unnatural limitation of Venice, piled onto the only available walkways that connected the buildings to one another. Sirens wailed and people pushed, but Farrah had managed to get out quick and stabilize on a corner to give an account of the events.

_“…again, not much information has come forth yet, but it appears the blasts have ended. As you can see and hear, it is absolute chaos right now. The hearing in my left ear is diminished from the explosion, and it’s becoming apparent that many other guests are experiencing the same thing…”_

She was visibly shaken, and there was a darkening bruise on her cheek, but he had to give her credit for her nerves. 

“Terrorist or Haven?” Callan asked.

Six pursed his lips and glanced at Beasley. “When Sgambelluri was heading back from the lab, how was his demeanor? His clothing?”

Beasley shrugged. “Immaculate. Time of his life.”

“Hrmm,” Six intoned, and his thoughts were back to the numerals on the bodies. Unless they were hired externally, he had an underlying fear he knew exactly who was responsible. “Too early to tell. Terrorist is the most likely. There’s three right off the bat that are here we can name, easy to pin an inside job on one of them or Haven.”

“Too easy,” Callan replied, and Six met eyes with him briefly, remembering that he had also seen the numerals. He shook his head once. _Not now._

Luckily, Holiday was still preoccupied helping Nyquist slip on a button-down shirt. For a moment the room was filled with several agents in various states of undress, shedding their suits and putting on plain clothes. Were this a casual mission, a quip here or there to lighten the mood would have been said, but not tonight. They sat watching the continuing chaos until the hustle of getting Nyquist on his feet and Wade and Valenza out the door became louder and it was just uneasy quiet again, Farrah’s voice and sirens filling the room.

Holiday exhaled, peeling the kevlar vest off her, dumping the wet weight onto the the floor with the rest, finding her suit all at once constricting.

“Beasley, help me with these, man,” Callan said, taking a cue to leave Six and Holiday alone. He wasn’t responsible for Cesar, but the scientist remained locked on the television.

Six watched the men gather the suits and move them into the bathroom of the adjoining suite, turning his head to find Holiday standing next to him, dropping the zipper of her suit past the base of her throat. He made an effort to keep his eyes on her face, remind himself that Callan and Beasley had done the same, that he knew exactly what lay under the wet material and that she truly was a welcome sight in the midst of this snafu. He looked to the television again, ignoring how her hair clung to her neck, still damp from sweat and seawater.

“They'll check the obvious suspects first.”

“Then scrutinize all of our alibis,” she added.

He glanced sidelong at her. Hers might be the one that was dissected the most. If it came down to it, they were _not_ interrogating her. Not while he was alive.

Her fingers gently wrapped around his wrist and he looked down at the contact.

“Let me look at it,” she said quietly

“Later,” he replied, although the sudden attention to his arm again made him acknowledge the pain he had pushed in his mind. 

“When it’s infected?” she countered. _Technically_ , protocol stated she outranked him when medical needs were concerned, but she’d already won the argument regardless. He needed to take off his suit for her to see to him properly, but Polizia’s pending arrival would be soon.

He nodded at the bathroom in her suite. “Get changed first. _Polizia._ ” 

She nodded, squeezing his hand gently before leaving. While she changed, he conveyed the message to the other men.

“Make sure you take care of that,” he said of the gash that was still open on Cesar’s head. 

“I got it,” Callan tossed, fetching the first aid supplies from the other equipment.

Six nodded peeling his own vest from his suit and adding it to the pile. “I’ll need that when you’re done,” he said, but Callan took alcohol, gauze, sutures, and handed him the bag. 

When he got to Holiday’s room, he rapped on the door. “It’s me.”

“Come in.”

For the second time this evening, he caught glimpse of her bare back as she pulled a blouse over her head. There was no coy smile or glance; her face was set and stern as she led him to the bathroom. Strange as it was to see her in such casual clothes—jeans—he thought she looked even more lethal, more in control of the situation than even he was.

She took the medical bag from him wordlessly, taking out what she needed, laying them neatly on a clean towel on the sink counter. Before washing her hands, she waited expectantly for him to peel the top portion of his suit to get to his hand.

“It’s easier to cut it, but we could still slip it off.”

He nodded. Best to salvage as much as they could with the suit.

It was the most exposed he’d been around her, but the only indication she gave of his partial nudity was a quick sweep over his torso to check for more injuries.

“Are you injured anywhere else?” Holiday glanced at him, waiting for the truth, and he was not going to lie to her this evening.

“No.” 

Her eyes paused on a deep faded scar under his ribs—she looked painfully at it before her clinical detachment returned, as did her attention to his arm.

She sighed. “There’s not too much glass or blood. Fingers,” she commanded, and he moved them to show her his dexterity. Luckily, most of the shrapnel had embedded in the deep muscle away from the tendons. He was confidant the moderate pain he felt was referred.

For several minutes, she worked to remove the glass. Her even breath over his skin and intense concentration gave him something to focus on before everything that happened tonight returned full force in his mind. After she was done, she sterilized, closed, and wrapped his arm.

“We’ll check it properly when we get back to HQ,” she said, standing up, then after a moment, smiled. “Thank you,” she murmured.

He grabbed her hand with both of his, sharing the moment.

There was a distant knock at the door, and for a split second her true emotion flashed across her face before she steeled and squeezed his hand. “I’ll handle them while you get dressed.”

The familiarity, the domesticity of her statement strengthened him. He gave her a nod, the most affection of any sort he could continue to give until the situation had passed.

Six got dressed as quickly as he could, ridding and disguising any trace of the operation they were so heavily involved in.

He tied his shoes at the door to catch glimpse of the conversation. 

“—We ask that you all remain in your rooms until the situation has passed.”

“Is everyone accounted for? There are eight of you,” a second voice clipped. 

“Yes, we are aware,” Holiday said evenly, though there was a hardness to her voice. “You might know before we do. I just got off the phone with them ten minutes ago. They were mugged earlier in the evening and are heading to the hospital.”

“Which one?”

He took this as his cue, removing his cellphone from his pocket for the deception. “Angelo.” Shot in the dark, but assuming his information was still correct—and it was-- Ospatale de Angelo was the nearest, obvious choice. 

The Polizia regarded his entrance, one writing in a notepad, surely notating the information. The other, Ponce, regarded all their faces, as he did theirs. There were three assigned to be their handlers, two Polizia, Mascarella and Santeccia, both outstanding men in their division, and Ponce, who was Carabinieri, Italian special forces. He’d looked up her personal record—twenty-two confirmed kills. He was actually impressed Italy thought them a nuisance enough to warrant decent attention.

“That is unfortunate, Doctor,” Ponce said, her own voice steeling. “Our apologies. The city is home to many _guests_ tonight. Some have outstayed their welcome.”

No one on his team said a word, thankfully, and Six nodded.

“Rest assured,” she continued, “we are working at full capacity to figure this out.”

“Let us know if there is any way Providence can provide assistance.” Of course, they always extended the gesture, but even more so tonight, he had to throw off their scent.

“You can assist us, Agent, by providing your statements.” Her words were sharp, authoritarian, not at all comforting as it would be with other, _well-liked_ guests.

He nodded. “Shall we?” As head of operations, he was required to go first, but primarily, he wanted to set a story straight, though he was confident his team would be on the same page.

Ponce nodded as well, gesturing for him to go to the corner. From there, she could keep an eye on her team and his, and she ordered Mascarella and Santeccia to begin recording Callan and Cesar’s statements.

“We last checked in with you two hours ago. 18:00. Explain what you were doing until then.”

“Preparations, ensuring Dr. Holiday’s safety. Captain Callan personally escorted Dr. Holiday to the gala entrance. He then fell back to passive surveillance, while I remained up here, overseeing them with Dr. Salazar.”

“Just one man stationed?”

“Captain Callan is my best man.”

“You were also given an invitation, why did you not attend?” 

“I prefer to focus my attention solely towards Dr. Holiday’s protection than entertaining guests. I’m sure you understand.“

Ponce grunted, watching her companions slowly navigate the room.

“As you can see, we were able to do perform our jobs.”

That brought her attention back to him.

“Please explain Dr. Salazar’s injuries. We have no record of him attending, despite his invitation.” 

At this, he let his annoyance appear because it _was_ genuine. Cesar had insisted he come along, despite expressing disinterest in the gala. “Dr. Salazar,” he chose his worlds carefully, “decided to attend after _originally declining_. He got caught in the ensuing panic.”

That seemed to placate Ponce. She glanced over Cesar and nodded. “Grazie.” She took two steps to her left and Six knew she was measuring the line of sight to the gala. “Anything unusual?”

“All the world’s top organizations together in one place.” 

“Hrmm,” she agreed.

His phone buzzed, and Ponce looked both equally annoyed and inquisitive of it.

_Shit._ He knew it was White. Damn his timing. “I have to take this call.”

“We’re finished.”

He nodded and stepped into the bedroom to answer.

“Six.”

“Usually I’ll glance over an explosion or two,” White started. “But last time I checked, Rex is actually being a normal teenager for a change. What the _hell_ is going on over there?" 

He breathed evenly. He hated non answers. He hated that he _had_ an answer and not a suspicion.

“Someone got to the lab before we did.” 

“Well that’s disappointing. Tell me you at least know who.” 

His lips thinned. “Polizia is here right now. Our current focus is making sure that it’s _not_ us.” 

White’s jaw ticked. “Be very sure.” The call ended. 

Six breathed slowly, keeping himself level. They were so _very_ involved in this mess and he hated that everything was out of their favor. He needed to return to Holiday, protect _her_ first, then Providence. 

He stepped out again, wishing he had kept Valenza around to catch the chatter.

Ponce nodded at him. “I trust you’re familiar with protocol, Agent Six,” she said before giving the suite one last sweep with her eyes and left. 

After the door shut, Holiday shook her head. “They said it smelled like sea water in here. Which,” she gritted, “is not _unusual_ with the balcony open." 

“Gauging us. Standard procedure,” Callan said.

“Expect their return. In the meantime,” Six said, nodding at the television, “Let’s try to get our bearings.”

Callan set about pulling up real time feeds on their laptops and called Wade.

Cesar was riveted once more to the news and Holiday stood in the midst of it all, absorbing everything she could.

Six took it all in as well, but he knew it was a mess. A goddamn mess that he had set in motion. Forget Moses’ code, he had to make sure Providence wasn’t implicated for terrorism, and after, take care of those that did. Because it had to be him, no one else. 

The Numbers were predictable; Dos, Trey, IV, Five, he knew how they fought, how they planned, but _unknowns_ vying for his spot? He didn’t know who or even how many. That alone left a bad taste in his mouth. He looked at Holiday. He would have to tell her everything. She couldn’t be involved in this, he wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t let _them_ drag her into this.

As if sensing his gaze, she glanced over her shoulder at him, perhaps for reassurance, perhaps studying him. To deflect her attention, he addressed the room.

“What’s the chatter?”

“At this moment,” Callan muttered, “It’s a fucking mess.”

Six agreed.

“Theories are wild, the usual suspects have come up, but nothing so far on us.”

“Yet,” Holiday said. Everyone looked at her.

 Callan shrugged. “We’re lucky most of the evidence is underwater. As long as our alibis hold up.” 

Six replayed it again mentally, as he was sure they all did in that silence. Cesar was enroute to the Gala, explaining his injury. Wade, Valenza and Nyquist were out and about as tourists, victims of a mugging. Callan and Beasley were out in the field—within Providence’s allowed reach in Italy’s borders. Holiday was placed at the Gala, and even Sgambelluri could vouch for her twenty minutes before the explosions, but if she was spotted outside of the gala or that guard she encountered was still alive, she was in trouble. 

“Except we’re not exactly in friendly territory. More enemies than friends,” he said then realized he had drawn Callan and Holiday’s attention back to the very real issue of his association with the Numbers and the fuck up tonight. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’ll see what I can do with my friend in Interpol,” Beasley said, unaware of the tension.

“Do it.”

Callan wisely busied himself with the feeds again. “I’ll try mine as well.”

Having two Interpol contacts would help. They could cross-reference and maybe he’d get in touch with _his_ contact and figure out if the Numbers were trying to pin this on Providence or if it was meant as recruitment. 

Holiday gave him a lingering glance before she joined Cesar and Six wished it was neither option or even worse, if it was both.

Six walked back out to the balcony for a second, scanning rooftops and shadows. How many eyes were watching him? He gripped the stone railing, feeling a bit of his old self welling within him. If he didn’t have Providence to worry about—and really, he could give a shit about them right now because Holiday was his real concern—he’d take care of business his own way.

He peered down at the police boats and what was left of the docks and shops that surrounded Sgambelluri’s lab before slipping back into the room.

For the rest of the night they watched the news and gathered data from their contacts and feeds. Sometime after 3 am, Valenza, Wade, and Nyquist returned. Valenza had managed to falsify hospital records and police reports with a story about a tourist trap, which in their favor, happens so often enough, polizia doesn’t do much unless they personally know the victim or they were American.

“Any problems getting back?” Six asked. In the living room, Holiday and Callan fussed over Nyquist and his new needs.

Valenza shrugged. “Lots of questions from Ponce, but she got us through the barricades. Even got a few souvenirs to throw off our scent.”

Holiday’s phone rang and she answered it, heading into her room to take it. 

“All cash,” Valenza added.

“Good.” Six gave him a nod, approving of the new resource he had in him. He’s got potential. “Rest up and eat,” he told him and Valenza gratefully made his way over to the sandwiches and bruschetta that was brought up a few hours ago.

He swept the room, all his men accounted for. Callan caught his glance and nodded, letting him know he had watch.

Six nodded once more and he went to find Holiday. White had called two more times requesting updates and offering some external resources but if he was calling Holiday that was probably not a good thing. He knocked but she didn’t answer and he slowly opened the door.

“Holiday?” The balcony door was open and a draft blew in. A chill creeped through him and his hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade.

“Out here.” Her voice brought a wave of relief but he still kept his guard up. “Enjoying the evening,” she said through gritted teeth, the safe word, but she was anything but safe.

She caught on to his tension and moved back inside. “Sorry. I needed air,” she sighed, hands covering her face. Holiday paced, her lips thin. “Rhodes called. It’s Beverly.” 

Before he could ask, she continued. “She’s not doing well but Rhodes got her stabilized. She’s still running tests. White ordered her not to call.” 

No doubt White thought the news would distract her, but Six wasn’t going to let him use Beverly as leverage. “Rebecca, if you want to go, we’ll go.”

She smiled gratefully, but all the weary lines on her face spoke of the toll the night and the news took on her. “Thanks. Any other mission, I’d be flying a jumpjet back by now but I can’t let this go. There are too many things at stake. I don’t even know for sure if this code—if it even exists—is directly related to whats going on with her.”

He nodded. This was her way of saying they were staying to _finish this shit and anything else that got in their way._ Even tired, her fury was still strong as ever.

But just as suddenly, she folded, sighing. “I’m supposed to be enjoying myself.”

Six watched her sadly. After this, he’d take her some place nice and make it up. Just them, no Providence, no conferences.

“But,” she said after a moment, “At least you’re here.” She gave him a small smile and he, despite everything, gave her one just as small.

**:::**  

When the sun came up, the only person who had slept was Nyquist and Six let him, although either way, his painkillers  and antibiotics would keep him foggy for weeks. 

For the rest of them, _professionals_ , protocol and practiced focus carried them through the night, and would for the next day. Two, if required. He personally assessed and assembled the team with Callan.

He never needed to consider the captain. His training and temperament were top notch. Even now he sat calmly absorbing information at the laptops, jaw working a piece of gum.

Beasley and Wade were Callan’s best, and Providence’s best on night surveillance and scouting. Nyquist was always a top agent since the early days, former domestic government operative. Valenza was former Italian Army, choosing Providence over a guaranteed Carabinieri position in Narcotics and Kidnapping. Still young, but still very experienced and of course, Italian, therefore a vital necessity to this mission, and that was paying off well. Holiday was _Holiday_. She’d stay awake a week if she was even _close_ to solving something. She frightened him sometimes, her determination and tenacity, as much as he was impressed. Any weariness she had appeared only in that brief moment of privacy earlier. Now she sat on a velvet armchair, eating fruit and communicating with Rhodes over Beverly’s readouts, a steady constant stream of computer keys.

In truth, the only person that drew his concern was Cesar. With him, they were still wondering what the hell constituted as _abnormal_ behavior. Unlike his brother, he often possessed a single driving fixation that negated his inhibitions, caution, and basic self awareness. But often enough, he compartmentalized situations and absorbed with hyper acuity. Since the mission started, his usual frenetic energy was replaced with an odd calm, an utmost concentration. He hadn’t glanced away from the television except to drink coffee or consult his tablet.

They were waiting for the press conference at 7am. Along with Carabinieri, Sgambelluri was due to speak about the Gala and have an announcement. Presumably what he was set to reveal the previous evening.

Their contacts had provided exactly the intel they needed, which was ensuring that Providence was not on the radar. Certainly, Italy was openly on poor terms with Providence, but on issues over jurisdiction, international law, and politics, not terrorism, espionage, and murder. But they had to make sure, just as Italy had to make it a point that they would receive no special treatment.

Six, however, was looking for other intel, because who Carabinieri believed to be responsible and who he _knew_ to be responsible would not match.

“It’s starting,” Cesar announced. 

The attention of the room shifted back to the television. Ultimate Exposure still had broadcasting exclusivity but several other network microphones where visible at the podium. The Comandante Generale, head of Carabinieri stood solemnly. Behind him, Ponce was standing at attention.

_“Venice awakens to a harsh reality. Last night, several explosions occurred in Dorsoduro around Ca’Rezzonico, where Haven Society was hosting a Gala for several of the world’s leading Nanite organizations. As of this morning, this attack has been declared an act of terrorism. So far, no group has claimed responsibility for these actions.”_

He paused and looked around at the crowd briefly before continuing. _“At this time, we count at least three dead and over fourteen people unaccounted for.”_

Simon Sgambelluri came on and this time there was no posturing or grandstanding.

“He looks like he's really grieving,” Holiday said.

“That doesn't mean he's entirely without blame,” Callan countered.

Six thought they were both right. Sgambelluri looked a man broken, despite his poise and etiquette.

_“Last night, the world’s leading organizations, dedicated to navigating humanity Post-Event through this new world, gathered together under peaceful terms, something that hasn’t happened in four years. This kind of grievous act only enforces that we must work together to solve problems that affect each and every one of us. Regardless if we are on opposite ends of beliefs."_  

Sgambelluri paused to clear his throat. “Just a few days ago, I received something that was extraordinary. It was my uncle, Amadeo Goretti who realized what it was and that we had to share it. ‘ _Il mondo deve sapere,_ ’ he said. The world needs to know.”

Again he paused and his face dropped the careful composure he had for a brief moment. “ _My uncle is dead_ ,” he continued, regaining his composure. _“But, for his sake, for the world’s sake, I must still share it—”_  

“—Son of a bitch, he still has the code,” Holiday realized.

_“—That is why I am. I am not asking any of you to stay. If you wish to leave, I respect that wish along with offering you my sincerest apologies. But, what I plan to reveal I believe must be heard and seen first by those of you I’ve called here. Because you have brought humanity this far through the chaos that is every day after the Event. Tonight will not be a celebration, but a foundation of a better world. Thank you.”_

He slipped off stage and the news conference was over. Diane Farrah came on again, this time the bruise on her face clearly visible. “— _Already Haven Society has felt the brunt of criticism that gathering leaders from all groups was a dangerous idea. No telling if last night’s attacks will be a setback in development, but certainly in future cooperation between groups—“_

Holiday spoke first. “So. Do we pack up and go or are we attending another gala?”

It was a loaded question. As Providence, they set the precedent by staying. If they stayed, the other groups would follow. If they stayed, they couldn’t risk another op with so much heat. That being said, they hadn’t gotten the all clear from Ponce to leave—

Both Six and Holiday’s phones rang.

When he glanced at the number, he managed a smirk at the irony of the caller.

“Agent Six,” Ponce’s voice came over the phone. “You, Dr. Holiday, Dr. Salazar and your agents have been given the all clear to leave the country.”

“Glad to hear it. We’ll keep you updated of our departure.”

“ _Buono sera_.”

Six knew the timing of the call was strategic. Ponce was aware of the sway they held over the other groups. No doubt they were probably the first to be notified. Now he needed to gather the temperature of the situation and decide if it was worth staying another day.

“Our alibis checked out,” he announced to them. Holiday was still on her call.

“Could be on to us,” Callan shrugged. “But that sounds good. Give us the word.”

“We’re staying,” Holiday said. “Sgambelluri just called me. He wants to meet within the hour.”


End file.
